.: 


' 

— 


3r?    C^-^v 


HARLESSUAMB 


; 
.     i 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Marvin  Maclean 


UK/       c/s3/??i& 


OF 


.j , 

tt  J  Paced   round  the  haun 


(PMOILABXE'ILIP-BOIIA 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


CHARLES  J.AMB, 


ELEGANTLY   ILLUSTRATED. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
PUBLISHED  BY  E.  H.  BUTLER  &  CO. 

1858. 


ft  / 


CONTENTS. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE  THREE  FRIENDS Page  9 

To  CHARLES  LLOYD,  AN  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR      .     .  17 

HESTER 10 

THE  OLD  FAMILIAR  FACES 21 

To  A  KlVER  IN  WHICH  A  CHILD  WAS  DROWNED    .    .  22 

HELEN 23 

A  VISION  OF  REPENTANCE 24 

DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  A  MOTHER  AND  CHILD      ...  28 

QUEEN  ORIANA'S  DREAM       29 

A  BALLAD. — NOTING  THE  DIFFERENCE  OF  RICH  AND 

POOR,  IN  THE  WAYS  OF  A  RlCH  NOBLE'S  PALACE 

AND  A  POOR  WORKHOUSE 30 

HYPOCHONDRIACUS 32 

A  FAREWELL  TO  TOBACCO     . 34 

LlNES  SUGGESTED  BY  A  PlCTURE  OF  TWO  FEMALES  BY 

LEONARDO  DA  VINCI 40 

LlNES  ON  THE  SAME  PlCTURE  BEING  REMOVED  TO  MAKE 

PLACE  FOR  A  PORTRAIT  OF  A  LADY  BY  TlTIAN    .     .  41 

To  T.  L.  II.,  A  CHILD 41 

1  *  (5) 

929 


VI  CONTENTS. 

BALLAD,  FROM  THE  GERMAN 43 

DAYID  IN  THE  CAVE  OF  ADULLAM 44 

SALOME 45 

LINES  ON  THE  CELEBRATED  PlCTURE  BY  LEONARDO  DA 

VINCI,  CALLED  THE  VIRGIN  OF  THE  KOCKS  ...  48 

ON  THE  SAME 49 

ANGEL  HELP 50 

ON  AN  INFANT  DYING  AS  SOON  AS  BORN       ....  51 

THE  CHRISTENING       .     .  54 

THE  YOUNG  CATECHIST 55 

To  A  YOUNG  FRIEND,  ON  HER  TWENTY-FIRST  BIRTH- 
DAY      .    .     .- 56 

SHE  is  GOING 58 

SONNETS. 

I.  To  Miss  KELLY 59 

II.  ON    THE    SIGHT  OF    SWANS   IN   KENSINGTON  GAR- 
DEN   59 

III.  "  WAS  IT  SOME  SWEET  DEVICE"       60 

IV.  "  METHINKS  HOW  DAINTY  SWEET  IT  WERE"  .     .  61 

V.  "WHEN  LAST  I  ROVED" 61 

VI.  THE  FAMILY  NAME 62 

VII.  "  IF  FROM  MY  LIPS" •     .     .  62 

VIII.  "  A  TIMID  GRACE" .63 

IX.  To  JOHN  LAMB,  ESQ.,  OF  THE  SOUTH-SEA  HOUSE  64 

X.  "  0 !  I  COULD  LAUGH"     '. 64 

XL  "  WE  WERE  TWO  PRETTY  BABES" 65 

HARMONY  IN  UNLIKENESS 66 

WRITTEN  AT  CAMBRIDGE 66 

To  A  CELEBRATED  FEMALE  PERFORMER  IN  THE  "  BLIND 

BOY"                                                                         ,  67 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

WORK 68 

LEISURE 68 

To  SAMUEL  ROGERS,  ESQ 69 

THE  GIPSY'S  MALISON 70 

BLANK  VERSE. 

CHILDHOOD 72 

THE  GRAXDAME 72 

FANCY  EMPLOYED  ON  DIYINE  SUBJECTS 74 

COMPOSED  AT  MIDNIGHT 75 

THE  SABBATH  BELLS 77 

ALBUM  VERSES,  ETC. 

IN  THE  AUTOGRAPH  BOOK  or  MRS.  SERGEANT  W 78 

To  DORA  "VV ,  ON  BEING  ASKED  BY  HER  FATHER 

TO  WRITE  IN  HER  ALBUM 79 

IN  THE  ALBUM  or  A  CLERGYMAN'S  LADY     ....  80 

IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  EDITH  S 80 

IN  THE  ALBUM  or  ROTHA  Q 81 

IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  CATHERINE  ORKNEY  .     .  ,82 

• 

IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  LUCY  BARTON 83 

IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  MRS.  JANE  TOWERS 84 

IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  Miss 85 

IN  MY  OWN  ALBUM 86 

COMMENDATORY  VERSES,  ETC. 

To  J.  S.  KNOWLES,  ESQ.,  ON  HIS  TRAGEDY  OF  VIR- 

GINIUS 88 

To  THE  AUTHOR  OF  POEMS,  PUBLISHED  UNDER  THE 

NAME  OF  BARRY  CORNWALL 89 

To  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  "  EVERY-DAY  BOOK"    .          ,  90 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

To  T.  STOTHARD,  ESQ.,  ON  HIS  ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  THE 

POEMS  OF  MR.  ROGERS 91 

To  A  FRIEND  ON  HIS  MARRIAGE 92 

THE  SELF-ENCHANTED 95 

To  LOUISA  M ,  WHOM  I  USED  TO  CALL  "  MONKEY"  95 

TRANSLATIONS  (FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  VINCENT  BOURNE). 

I.  THE  BALLAD  SINGERS 97 

II.  To  DAVID  COOK,  OF  THE  PARISH  OF  ST.  MAR- 
GARET'S, WESTMINSTER,  WATCHMAN    ....  100 

III.  ON  A   SEPULCHRAL  STATUE   OF   AN  INFANT 
SLEEPING 102 

IV.  EPITAPH  ON  A  DOG 102 

V.  THE  RIYAL  BELLS 104 

VI.  NEWTON'S  PRINCIPIA      .........  104 

VII.  THE  HOUSEKEEPER .     .  105 

VIII.  ON  A  DEAF  AND  DUMB  ARTIST      .     .     .     .     .106 
IX.  THE  FEMALE  ORATORS 107 

PINDARIC  ODE  TO  THE  TREAD-MILL 108 

GOING  OR  GONE    .     .     .     .  ' 112 

FREE  THOUGHTS  ON  SEVERAL  EMINENT  COMPOSERS      .     .     .  116 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


SUBJECT  DESIGNER  PAGB 

PORTRAIT  OF  CHARLES  LAMB ATAGEMAN Frontispiece 

THE  OLD  FAMILIAR  FACES SCHMOLZE Title 

WHO  ART  THOU  FAIR  ONE DEVEREUX 41 

CHILDHOOD SCHMOLZE 72 

TJ3JE  SABBATH  BELLS SCBMOLZE 77 


THE 

POETICAL    WORKS 


OF 


CHARLES   LAMB. 


THE  THREE   FRIENDS. 

THREE  young  maids  in  friendship  met, 

Mary,  Martha,  Margaret. 

Margaret  was  tall  and  fair, 

Martha  shorter  by  a  hair ; 

If  the  first  excelled  in  feature, 

The  other's  grace  and  ease  were  greater ; 

Mary,  though  to  rival  loth, 

In  their  best  gifts  equalled  both. 

They  a  due  proportion  kept ; 

Martha  mourned  if  Margaret  wept ; 

Margaret  joyed  when  any  good 

She  of  Martha  understood  ; 


10  LAMB'S   POETICAL    WORKS. 

And  in  sympathy  for  either 
Mary  -was  outdone  by  neither. 
Thus  far,  for  a  happy  space, 
All  three  ran  an  equal  race, 
A  most  constant  friendship  proving, 
Equally  beloved  and  loving  ; 
All  their  wishes,  joys,  the  same  ; 
Sisters  only  not  in  name. 

Fortune  upon  each  one  smiled, 
As  upon  a  favourite  child ; 
Well  to  do  and  well  to  bee 
Were  the  parents  of  all  three  ; 
Till  on  Martha's  father  crosses 
Brought  a  flood  of  worldly  losses, 
And  his  fortunes  rich  and  great 
Changed  at  once  to  low  estate ; 
Under  which  o'erwhelming  blow 
Martha's  mother  was  laid  low ; 
She  a  hapless  orphan  left, 
Of  maternal  care  bereft, 
Trouble  following  trouble  fast, 
Lay  in  a  sick  bed  at  last. 

In  the  depth  of  her  affliction 
Martha  now  received  conviction, 
That  a  true  and  faithful  friend 
Can  the  surest  comfort  lend. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  11 

Night  and  day,  with  friendship  tried, 
Ever  constant  by  her  side 
Was  her  gentle  Mary  found, 
With  a  love  that  knew  no  bound ; 
And  the  solace  she  imparted 
Saved  her  dying  broken-hearted. 

In  this  scene  of  earthly  things 
Not  one  good  unmixed  springs. 
That  which  had  to  Martha  proved 
A  sweet  consolation,  moved 
Different  feelings  of  regret 
In  the  mind  of  Margaret. 
She,  whose  love  was  not  less  dear, 
Nor  affection  less  sincere 
To  her  friend,  was,  by  occasion 
Of  more  distant  habitation, 
Fewer  visits  forced  to  pay  her ; 
When  no  other  cause  did  stay  her ; 
And  her  Mary  living  nearer, 
Margaret  began  to  fear  her, 
Lest  her  visits  day  by  day 
Martha's  heart  should  steal  away. 
That  whole  heart  she  ill  could  spare  her, 
Where  till  now  she'd  been  a  sharer. 
From  this  cause  with  grief  she  pined, 
Till  at  length  her  health  declined. 


12  LAMB'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

All  her  cheerful  spirits  flew, 
Fast  as  Martha's  gathered  new ; 
And  her  sickness  waxed  sore, 
Just  when  Martha  felt  no  more. 

Mary,  who  had  quick  suspicion 
Of  her  altered  friend's  condition, 
Seeing  Martha's  convalescence 
Less  demanded  now  her  presence, 
With  a  goodness,  built  on  reason, 
Changed  her  measures  with  the  season ; 
Turned  her  steps  from  Martha's  door, 
Went  where  she  was  wanted  more  ; 
All  her  care  and  thoughts  were  set 
Now  to  tend  on  Margaret. 
Mary  living  'twixt  the  two, 
From  her  home  could  oftener  go, 
Either  of  her  friends  to  see, 
Then  they  could  together  be. 

Truth  explained  is  to  suspicion 
Evermore  the  best  physician. 
Soon  her  visits  had  the  effect ; 
All  that  Margaret  did  suspect, 
From  her  fancy  vanished  clean  ; 
She  was  soon  what  she  had  been, 
And  the  colour  she  did  lack 
To  her  faded  cheek  came  back. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  13 

Wounds  which  love  had  made  her  feel, 
Love  alone  had  power  to  heal. 

Martha,  who  the  frequent  visit 
Now  had  lost,  and  sore  did  miss  it, 
With  impatience  waxed  cross, 
Counted  Margaret's  gain  her  loss : 
All  that  Mary  did  confer 
On  her  friend,  thought  due  to  her. 
In  her  girlish  bosom  rise 
Little  foolish  jealousies, 
Which  into  such  rancour  wrought, 
She  one  day  for  Margaret  sought ; 
Finding  her  by  chance  alone, 
She  began,  with  reasons  shown, 
To  insinuate  a  fear 
Whether  Mary  was  sincere  ; 
Wished  that  Margaret  would  take  heed 
Whence  her  actions  did  proceed. 
For  herself,  she'd  long  been  minded 
Not  with  outsides  to  be  blinded ; 
All  that  pity  and  compassion 
She  believed  was  affectation ; 
In  her  heart  she  doubted  whether 
Mary  cared  a  pin  for  either. 
She  could  keep  whole  weeks  at  distance, 
And  not  know  of  their  existence, 


14  LAMB'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

While  all  things  remained  the  same ; 
But,  when  some  misfortune  came, 
Then  she  made  a  great  parade 
Of  her  sympathy  and  aid, — 
Not  that  she  did  really  grieve, 
It  was  only  make-believe, 
And  she  cared  for  nothing,  so 
She  might  her  fine  feelings  show 
And  her  credit,  on  her- part, 
For  a  soft  and  tender  heart. 

With  such  speeches,  smoothly  made, 
She  found  methods  to  persuade 
Margaret  (who  being  sore 
From  the  doubts  she'd  felt  before, 
Was  prepared  for  mistrust) 
To  believe  her  reasons  just ; 
Quite  destroyed  that  comfort  glad, 
Which  in  Mary  late  she  had ; 
Made  her,  in  experience'  spite, 
Think  her  friend  a  hypocrite, 
And  resolve,  with  cruel  scoff, 
To  renounce  and  cast  her  off. 

See  how  good  turns  are  rewarded  ! 
She  of  both  is  now  discarded. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  15 

Who  to  both  had  been  so  late 

Their  support  in  low  estate, 

All  their  comfort,  and  their  stay — 

Now  of  both  is  cast  away. 

But  the  league  her  presence  cherished, 

Losing  its  best  prop,  soon  perished ; 

She,  that  was  a  link  to  either, 

To  keep  them  and  it  together, 

Being  gone,  the  two  (no  wonder) 

That  were  left,  soon  fell  asunder  ; — 

Some  civilities  were  kept, 

But  the  heart  of  friendship  slept ; 

Love  with  hollow  forms  was  fed, 

But  the  life  of  love  lay  dead : — 

A  cold  intercourse  they  held, 

After  Mary  was  expelled. 

Two  long  years  did  intervene 
Since  they'd  either  of  them  seen, 
Or,  by  letter,  any  word 
Of  their  old  companion  heard, — 
When,  upon  a  day  once  walking, 
Of  indifferent  matters  talking, 
They  a  female  figure  met ; 
Martha  said  to  Margaret, 
"  That  young  maid  in  face  does  carry 
A  resemblance  strong  of  Mary." 


16  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

Margaret,  at  nearer  sight, 

Owned  her  observation  right ; 

But  they  did  not  far  proceed 

Ere  they  knew  'twas  she  indeed. 

She — but,  ah  !  how  changed  they  view  her 

From  that  person  which  they  knew  her  ! 

Her  fine  face  disease  had  starred, 

And  its  matchless  beauty  marred : — 

But  enough  was  left  to  trace 

Mary's  sweetness — Mary's  grace. 

When  her  eye  did  first  behold  them, 

How  they  blushed  ! — but,  when  she  told  them, 

How  on  a  sick  bed  she  lay 

Months,  while  they  had  kept  away, 

And  had  no  inquiries  made 

If  she  were  alive  or  dead ; — 

How,  for  want  of  a  true  friend, 

She  was  brought  near  to  her  end, 

And  was  like  so  to  have  died, 

With  no  friend  at. her  bed-side  ; — 

How  the  constant  irritation, 

Caused  by  fruitless  expectation 

Of  their  coming,  had  extended 

The  illness,  when  she  might  have  mended, — 

Then,  0  then,  how  did  reflection 

Come  on  them  with  recollection  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  17 

All  that  she  had  done  for  them, 
How  it  did  their  fault  condemn  ! 

But  sweet  Mary,  still  the  same, 
Kindly  eased  them  of  their  shame ; 
Spoke  to  them  with  accents  bland, 
Took  them  friendly  by  the  hand ; 
Bound  them  both  with  promise  fast, 
Not  to  speak  of  troubles  past ; 
Made  them  on  the  spot  declare 
A  new  league  of  friendship  there  ; 
Which,  without  a  word  of  strife, 
Lasted  thenceforth  long  as  life. 
Martha  now  and  Margaret 
Strove  who  most  should  pay  the  debt 
Which  they  owed  her,  nor  did  vary 
Ever  after  from  their  Mary. 


TO  CHARLES   LLOYD. 

AN  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR. 

ALONE,  obscure,  without  a  friend, 

A  cheerless,  solitary  thing, 
Why  seeks,  my  Lloyd,  the  stranger  out  ? 

What  offering  can  the  stranger  bring  ? 


18  LAMB'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

Of  social  scenes,  home-bred  delights, 
That  him  in  aught  compensate  may 

For  Stowey's  pleasant  winter  nights, 
For  loves  and  friendships  far  away  ? 

In  brief  oblivion  to  forego 

Friends,  such  as  thine,  so  justly  dear, 
And  be  awhile  with  me  Content 

To  stay,  a  kindly  loiterer,  here  : 

For  this  a  gleam  of  random  joy 

Hath  flushed  my  unaccustomed  cheek  ; 

And,  with  an  o'ercharged  bursting  heart, 
I  feel  the  thanks  I  cannot  speak. 

Oh !  sweet  are  all  the  Muses'  lays, 
And  "sweet  the  charm  of  matin  bird  ; 

'Twas  long  since  these  estranged  ears 
The  sweeter  voice  of  friend  had  heard. 

The  voice  hath  spoke  ;  the  pleasant  sounds 
In  memory's  ear  in  after  time 

Shall  live,  to  sometimes  rouse  a  tear, 
And  sometimes  prompt  an  honest  rhyme. 

For,  when  the  transient  charm  is  fled, 
And  when  the  little  week  is  o'er, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  19 

To  cheerless,  friendless,  solitude 
When  I  return,  as  heretofore ; 

Long,  long,  within  my  aching  heart 
The  grateful  sense  shall  cherish'd  be ; 

I'll  think  less  meanly  of  myself, 

That  Lloyd  will  sometimes  think  on  me. 


HESTER. 

WHEN  maidens  such  as  Hester  die, 
Their  place  ye  may  not  well  supply, 
Though  ye  among  a  thousand  try, 
With  vain  endeavour. 

A  month  or  more  hath  she  been  dead, 
Yet  cannot  I  by  force  be  led 
To  think  upon  the  wormy  bed, 
And  her  together. 

A  springy  motion  in  her  gait, 
A  rising  step,  did  indicate 
Of  pride  and  joy  no  common  rate, 
That  flushed  her  spirit. 


20  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

I  know  not  by  what  name  beside 
I  shall  it  call : — if  'twas  not  pride, 
It  was  a  joy  to  that  allied, 
She  did  inherit. 

Her  parents  held  the  Quaker  rule, 
Which  doth  the  human  feeling  cool, 
But  she  was  trained  in  Nature's  school, 
Nature  had  blest  her. 

A  waking  eye,  a  prying  mind, 
A  heart  that  stirs,  is  hard  to  bind, 
A  hawk's  keen  sight  ye  cannot  blind, 
Ye  could  not  Hester. 

My  sprightly  neighbour  !  gone  before 
To  that  unknown  and  silent  shore, 
Shall  we  not  meet,  as  heretofore, 
Some  summer  morning, 

When  from  thy  cheerful  eyes  a  ray 
Hath  struck  a  bliss  upon  the  day, 
A  bliss  that  would  not  go  away, 
A  sweet  fore-warning  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS.  21 


THE  OLD  FAMILIAR  FACES. 

I  HAVE  had  playmates,  I  have  had  companions, 
In  my  days  of  childhood,  in  my  joyful  school-days, 
All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

I  have  been  laughing,  I  have  been  carousing, 
Drinking  late,  sitting  late,  with  my  bosom  cronies, 
All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

I  loved  a  love  once,  fairest  among  women ; 
Closed  are  her  doors  on  me,  I  must  not  see  her — 
All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

I  have  a  friend,  a  kinder  friend  has  no  man ; 
Like  an  ingrate,  I  left  my  friend  abruptly ; 
Left  him,  to  muse  on  the  old  familiar  faces. 

Ghost-like  I  paced  round  the  haunts  of  my  childhood, 
Earth  seemed  a  desert  I  was  bound  to  traverse, 
Seeking  to  find  the  old  familiar  faces. 

Friend  of  my  bosom,  thou  more  than  a  brother, 
Why  wert  not  thou  born  in  my  father's  dwelling  ? 
So  might  we  talk  of  the  old  familiar  faces — 


22  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

How  some  they  have  died,  and  some  they  have  left  me, 
And  some  are  taken  from  me  ;  all  are  departed ; 
All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 


TO  A  RIVER  IN  WHICH  A  CHILD  WAS 
DROWNED. 

SMILING  river,  smiling  river, 
On  thy  bosom  sunbeams  play  ; 

Though  they're  fleeting,  and  retreating, 
Thou  hast  more  deceit  than  they. 

In  thy  channel,  in  thy  channel, 

Choked  with  ooze  and  gravelly  stones, 

Deep  immersed,  and  unhearsed, 

Lies  young  Edward's  corse  :  his  bones 

Ever  whitening,  ever  whitening, 
As  thy  waves  against  them  dash ; 

What  thy  torrent,  in  the  current, 
Swallowed,  now  it  helps  to  wash. 

As  if  senseless,  as  if  senseless 
Things  had  feeling  in  this  case ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  23 


What  so  blindly,  and  unkindly, 
It  destroyed,  it  now  does  grace. 


HELEN. 

HIGH-BORN  Helen,  round  your  dwelling 
These  twenty  years  I've  paced  in  vain : 

Haughty  beauty,  thy  lover's  duty 
Hath  been  to  glory  in  his  pain. 

High-born  Helen,  proudly  telling 

Stories  of  thy  cold  disdain  ; 
I  starve,  I  die,  now  you  comply, 

And  I  no  longer  can  complain. 

These  twenty  years  I've  lived  on  tears, 
Dwelling  for  ever  on  a  frown ; 

On  sighs  I've  fed,  your  scorn  my  bread ; 
I  perish  now  you  kind  are  grown. 

Can  I,  who  loved  my  beloved 

But  for  the  scorn  "  was  in  her  eye," 

Can  I  be  moved  for  my  beloved, 

When  she  "returns  me  sigh  for  sigh?" 


24  LAMB'S   POETICAL   WOKKS. 

In  stately  pride,  by  my  bed-side, 
High-born  Helen's  portrait's  hung  ; 

Deaf  to  my  praise,  my  mournful  lays 
Are  nightly  to  the  portrait  sung. 

To  that  I  weep,  nor  ever  sleep, 

Complaining  all  night  long  to  her — 

Helen,  grown  old,  no  longer  cold. 
Said,  "You  to  all  men  I  prefer." 


A  VISION  OF  REPENTANCE. 

I  SAW  a  famous  fountain,  in  my  dream, 
Where  shady  pathways  to  a  valley  led ; 

A  weeping  willow  lay  upon  that  stream, 

And  all  around  the  fountain  brink  was  spread 

Wide-branching  trees,  with  dark  green  leaf  rich  clad, 

Forming  a  doubtful  twilight — desolate  and  sad. 

The  place  was  such,  that  whoso  entered  in, 
Disrobed  was  of  every  earthly  thought, 

And  straight  became  as  one  that  knew  not  sin, 
Or  to  the  world's  first  innocence  was  brought ; 

Enseemed  it  now,  he  stood  on  holy  ground, 

In  sweet  and  tender  melancholy  wrapt  around. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  25 

A  most  strange  calm  stole  o'er  my  soothed  sprite ; 

Long  time  I  stood,  and  longer  had  I  staid, 
"When  lo  !  I  saw,  saw  by  the  sweet  moonlight, 

Which  came  in  silence  o'er  that  silent  shade, 
Where,  near  the  fountain,  SOMETHING  like  DESPAIR 
Made,  of  that  weeping  willow,  garlands  for  her  hair. 

And  eke  with  painful  fingers  she  inwove 
Many  an  uncouth  stem  of  savage  thorn — 

"  The  willow  garland,  that  was  for  her  love, 
And  these  her  bleeding  temples  would  adorn." 

With  sighs  her,  heart  nigh  burst,  salt  tears  fast  fell, 

As  mournfully  she  bended  o'er  that  sacred  well. 

To  whom  when  I  addressed  myself  to  speak, 
She  lifted  up  her  eyes,  and  nothing  said : 

The  delicate  red  came  mantling  o'er  her  cheek, 
And  gathering  up  her  loose  attire,  she  fled 

To  the  dark  covert  of  that  woody  shade, 

And  in  her  goings  seemed  a  timid  gentle  maid. 

Revolving  in  my  mind  what  this  should  mean, 

And  why  that  lovely  lady  plained  so ; 
Perplexed  in  thought  at  that  mysterious  scene, 

And  doubting  if  'twere  best  to  stay  or  go, 
I  cast  mine  eyes  in  wistful  gaze  around, 
When  from  the  shades  came  slow  a  small  and  plain- 
tive sound. 
3 


26  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

"  PSYCHE  am  I,  who  love  to  dwell 
In  these  brown  shades,  this  woody  dell, 
Where  never  busy  mortal  came, 
Till  now,  to  pry  upon  my  shame. 

At  thy  feet  what  thou  dost  see 
The  waters  of  repentance  be, 
Which,  night  and  day,  I  must  augment 
With  tears,  like  a  true  penitent, 

If  haply  so  my  day  of  grace 
Be  not  yet  past ;  and  this  lone  place, 
O'er-shadowy,  dark,  excludeth  hence 
All  thoughts  but  grief  and  penitence." 

"  Why  dost  thou  weep,  thou  gentle  maid! 
And  wherefore  in  this  barren  shade 
Thy  hidden  thoughts  with  sorrow  feed  ? 
Oan  thing  so  fair  repentance  need?" 

"  0  !  I  have  done  a  deed  of  shame, 
And  tainted  is  my  virgin  fame, 
And  stained  the  beauteous  maiden  white 
In  which  my  bridal  robes  were  dight." 
"  And  who  the  promised  spouse  ?  declare: 
And  what  those  bridal  garments  were." 


MISCELLANEOUS.  27 

"  Severe  and  saintly  righteousness 
Composed  the  clear  white  bridal  dress ; 
JESUS,  the  Son  of  Heaven's  high  King, 
Bought  with  his  blood  the  marriage  ring. 

A  wretched  sinful  creature,  I 
Deemed  lightly  of  that  sacred  tie, 
Gave  to  a  treacherous  WORLD  my  heart, 
And  played  the  foolish  wanton's  part. 
Soon  to  these  murky  shades  I  came, 
To  hide  from  the  sun's  light  my  shame. 
And  still  I  haunt  this  woody  dell, 
And  bathe  me  in  that  healing  well, 
Whose  waters  clear  have  influence 
From  sin's  foul  stains  the  soul  to  cleanse ; 
And  night  and  day,  I  them  augment, 
With  tears,  like  a  true  penitent, 
Until,  due  expiation  made, 
And  fit  atonement  fully  paid, 
The  Lord  and  Bridegroom  me  present, 
Where  in  sweet  strains  of  high  consent, 
God's  throne  before  the  Seraphim 
Shall  chant  the  ecstatic  marriage  hymn." 

"Now  Christ  restore  thee  soon" — I  said, 
And  thenceforth  all  my  dream  was  fled. 


28  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

DIALOGUE   BETWEEN  A  MOTHER  AND 
CHILD. 


"  0  LADY,  lay  your  costly  robes  aside, 
No  longer  may  you  glory  in  your  pride." 


Wherefore  to-day  art  singing  in  mine  ear 
Sad  songs  were  made  so  long  ago,  my  dear  ? 
This  day  I  am  to  be  a  bride,  you  know, 
Why  sing  sad  songs,  were  made  so  long  ago  ? 


0  mother,  lay  your  costly  robes  aside, 
For  you  may  never  be  another's  bride. 
That  line  I  learned  not  in  the  old  sad  song. 


I  pray  thee,  pretty  one,  now  hold  thy  tongue, 
Play  with  the  bride-maids ;  and  be  glad,  my  boy, 
For  thou  shalt  be  a  second  father's  joy. 


One  father  fondled  me  upon  his  knee. 
One  father  is  enough,  alone,  for  me. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  29 

QUEEN  OKI  ANA'S  DREAM. 

• 
ON  a  bank  with  roses  shaded, 

Whose  sweet  scent  the  violets  aided — 
Violets  whose  breath  alone 
Yields  but  feeble  smell  or  none, 
(Sweeter  bed  Jove  ne'er  reposed  on 
When  his  eyes  Olympus  closed  on,) 
While  o'er  head  six  slaves  did  hold 
Canopy  of  cloth  o'  gold, 
And  two  more  did  music  keep, 
Which  might  Juno  lull  to  sleep, 
Oriana,  who  was  queen 
To  the  mighty  Tamerlane, 
That  was  lord  of  all  the  land 
Between  Thrace  and  Samarchand, 
While  the  noon-tide  fervour  beamed, 
Mused  herself  to  sleep,  and  dreamed. 

Thus  far,  in  magnific  strain, 
A  young  poet  soothed  his  vein, 
But  he  had  nor  prose  nor  numbers 
To  express  a  princess'  slumbers. 
Youthful  Richard  had  strange  fancies, 
Was  deep  versed  in  old  romances, 
And  could  talk  whole  hours  upon 
The  Great  Cham  and  Prester  John — 


30  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

Tell  the  field  in  which  the  Sophi 
From  the  Tartar  won  a  trophy— 
What  he  read  with  such  delight  of, 
Thought  he  could  as  easily  write  of — 
But  his  over-young  invention 
Kept  not  pace  with  brave  intention. 
Twenty  suns  did  rise  and  set, 
And  he  could  no  further  get ; 
But,  unable  to  proceed, 
Made  a  virtue  out  of  need, 
And,  his  labours  wiselier  deemed  of, 
Did  omit  what  the  queen  dreamed  of. 


A  BALLAD. 

NOTING  THE  DIFFERENCE  OF  RICH  AND  POOR,  IN  THE 
WAYS  OF  A  RICH  NOBLE' S  PALACE  AND  A  POOR  WORK- 
HOUSE. 

To  the  Tune  of  the  "  Old  and  Young  Courtier." 

IN  a  costly  palace  Youth  goes  clad  in  gold  ; 
In  a  wretched  workhouse  Age's  limbs  are  cold ; 
There  they  sit,  the  old  men  by  a  shivering  fire, 
Still  close  and  closer  cowering,  warmth  is  their  de- 
sire. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  31 

In  a  costly  palace,  when  the  brave  gallants  dine, 
They  have  store  of  good  venison,  with  old  canary 

wine. 

With  singing  and  music  to  heighten  the  cheer ; 
Coarse  bits,  with  grudging,  are  the  pauper's  best  fare. 

In  a  costly  palace  Youth  is  still  carcs't 

By  a  train  of  attendants  which  laugh  at  my  young 

Lord's  jest ; 

In  a  wretched  workhouse  the  contrary  prevails ; 
Does  Age  begin  to  prattle  ? — no  man  hearkeneth  to 

his  tales. 

In  a  costly  palace  if  the  child  with  a  pin 

Do  but  chance  to  prick  a  finger,  straight  the  doctor 

is  called  in ; 

In  a  wretched  workhouse  men  are  left  to  perish 
For  want  of  proper    cordials,  which  their  old   age 

might  cherish. 

In  a  costly  palace  Youth  enjoys  his  lust ; 
In  a  wretched  workhouse  Age,  in  corners  thrust, 
Thinks  upon  the  former  days,  when  he  was  well  to  do, 
Had  children  to  stand  by  him,  both  friends  and  kins- 
men too. 

In  a  costly  palace  Youth  his  temples  hides 

With  a  new-devised  peruke  that  reaches  to  his  sides ; 


32  LAMB'S    P08T  1C AL   WORKS. 

In  a  wretched  workhouse  Age's  crown  is  bare, 
With  a  few  thin  locks  just  to  fence  out  the  cold  air. 

In  peace,  as  in  war,  'tis  our  young  gallants'  pride, 
To  walk,  each  one  i'  the  streets,  with  a  rapier  by  his 

side, 

That  none  to  do  them  injury  may  have  pretence ; 
Wretched  Age,  in  poverty,  must  brook  offence. 


HYPOCHONDRIACUS. 

BY  myself  walking, 
To  myself  talking, 
When  as  I  ruminate 
On  my  untoward  fate, 
Scarcely  seem  I 
Alone  sufficiently, 
Black  thoughts  continually 
Crowding  my  privacy ; 
They  come  unbidden, 
Like  foes  at  a  wedding, 
Thrusting  their  faces 
In  better  guests'  places, 
Peevish  and  malcontent, 
Clownish,  impertinent, 
Dashing  the  merriment ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  33 

So  in  like  fashions 

Dim  cogitations 

Follow  and  haunt  me, 

Striving  to  daunt  me, 

In  my  heart  festering, 

In  my  ears  whispering, 

"  Thy  friends  are  treacherous, 

Thy  foes  are  dangerous, 

Thy  dreams  ominous." 

Fierce  Anthropophagi, 
Spectra,  Diaboli, 
What  sacred  St.  Anthony, 
Hobgoblins,  Lemures, 
Dreams  of  Antipodes, 
Night-riding  Incubi 
Troubling  the  fantasy, 
All  dire  illusions 
Causing  confusions ; 
Figments  heretical, 
Scruples  fantastical, 
Doubts  diabolical ; 
Abaddon  vexeth  me, 
Mahu  perplexeth  me, 

Lucifer  teareth  me 

Jem  /  Maria  !  liberate  nos  ab  his  diris  tentationibus 
Inimici. 


34  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


A  FAREWELL   TO   TOBACCO. 

MAY  the  Babylonish  curse 

Straight  confound  my  stammering  verse, 

If  I  can  a  passage  see 

In  this  word  perplexity, 

Or  a  fit  expression  find, 

Or  a  language  to  my  mind, 

(Still  the  phrase  is  wide  or  scant) 

To  take  leave  of  thee,  GREAT  PLANT  ! 

Or  in  any  terms  relate 

Half  my  love,  or  half  my  hate  : 

For  I  hate,  yet  love,  thee  so, 

That,  whichever  thing  I  show, 

The  plain  truth  will  seem  to  be, 

A  constrained  hyperbole, 

And  the  passion  to  proceed 

More  from  a  mistress  than  a  weed. 

Sooty  retainer  to  the  vine, 
Bacchus'  black  servant,  negro  fine ; 
Sorcerer,  that  makest  us  dote  upon 
Thy  begrimed  complexion, 
And,  for  thy  pernicious  sake, 
More  and  greater  oaths  to  break 
Than  reclaimed  lovers  take 


MISCELLANEOUS.  35 

'Gainst  women :  thou  thy  siege  dost  lay 
Much  too  in  the  female  way, 
While  thou  suckest  the  labouring  breath 
Faster  than  kisses  or  than  death. 

Thou  in  such  a  cloud  dost  bind  us, 
That  our  worst  foes  cannot  find  us, 
And  ill  fortune,  that  would  thwart  us, 
Shoots  at  rovers,  shooting  at  us ; 
While  each  man,  through  thy  heightening  steam, 
Does  like  a  smoking  Etna  seem, 
And  all  about  us  does  express 
(Fancy  and  wit  in  richest  dress) 
A  Sicilian  fruitlessness. 

Thou  through  such  a  mist  dost  show  us, 
That  our  best  friends  do  not  know  us, 
And,  for  those  allowed  features, 
Due  to  reasonable  creatures, 
Likenest  us  to  fell  Chimeras, 
Monsters  that,  who  see  us,  fear  us ; 
Worse  than  Cerberus  or  Geryon, 
Or,  who  first  loved  a  cloud,  Ixion. 

Bacchus  we  know,  and  we  allow 
His  tipsy  rites.     But  what  art  thou, 
That  but  by  reflex  canst  show 
What  his  deity  can  do, 


36  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

As  the  false  Egyptian  spell 
Aped  the  true  Hebrew  miracle  ? 
Some  few  vapours  thou  mayest  raise, 
The  weak  brain  may  serve  to  amaze, 
But  to  the  reins  and  nobler  heart 
Canst  nor  life  nor  heat  impart. 

Brother  of  Bacchus,  later  born, 
The  old  world  was  sure  forlorn 
Wanting  thee,  that  aidest  more 
The  god's  victories  than  before 
All  his  panthers,  and  the  brawls 
Of  his  piping  Bacchanals. 
These,  as  stale,  we  disallow, 
Or  judge  of  thee  meant :  only  thou 
His  true  Indian  conquest  art ; 
And,  for  ivy  round  his  dart, 
The  reformed  god  now  weaves 
A  finer  thyrsus  of  thy  leaves. 

A  scent  to  match  thy  rich  perfume 
Chemic  art  did  ne'er  presume 
Through  her  quaint  alembic  strain, 
None  so  sovereign  to  the  brain. 
Nature,  that  did  in  thee  excel, 
Framed  again  no  second  smell. 
Koses,  violets,  but  toys 
For  the  smaller  sort  of  boys, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  37 

Or  for  greener  damsels  meant ; 
Thou  art  the  only  manly  scent. 

Stinkingest  of  the  stinking  kind, 
Filth  of  the  mouth  and  fog  of  the  mind, 
Africa,  that  brags  her  foison, 
Breeds  no  such  prodigious  poison, 
Henbane,  nightshade,  both  together, 
Hemlock,  aconite 

Nay,  rather, 

Plant  divine,  of  rarest  virtue  ; 
Blisters  on  the  tongue  would  hurt  you. 
'Twas  but  in  a  sort  I  blamed  thee ; 
None  e'er  prospered  who  defamed  thee ; 
Irony  all,  and  feigned  abuse, 
Such  as  perplexed  lovers  use, 
At  a  need,  when,  in  despair 
To  paint  forth  their  fairest  fair, 
Or  in  part  but  to  express 
That  exceeding  comeliness 
Which  their  fancies  doth  so  strike, 
They  borrow  language  of  dislike  ; 
And,  instead  of  Dearest  Miss, 
Jewel,  Honey,  Sweetheart,  Bliss, 
And  those  forms  of  old  admiring, 
Call  her  Cockatrice  and  Siren, 


38  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WOEKS. 

Basilisk,  and  all  that's  evil, 
Witch,  Hyena,  Mermaid,  Devil, 
Ethiop,  Wench,  and  Blackamoor, 
Monkey,  Ape,  and  twenty  more ; 
Friendly  Traitoress,  loving  Foe, — 
Not  that  she  is  truly  so, 
But  no  other  way  they  know 
A  contentment  to  express, 
Borders  so  upon  excess, 
That  they  do  not  rightly  wot 
Whether  it  be  pain  or  not. 

Or,  as  men,  constrained  to  part 
With  what's  nearest  to  their  heart, 
While  their  sorrow's  at  the  height, 
Lose  discrimination  quite, 
And  their  hasty  wrath  let  fall, 
To  appease  their  frantic  gall 
On  the  darling  thing  whatever, 
Whence  they  feel  it  death  to  sever, 
Though  it  be,  as  they,  perforce, 
Guiltless  of  the  sad  divorce, 

For  I  must  (nor  let  it  grieve  thee 
Friendliest  of  plants,  that  I  must)  leave  thee. 
For  thy  sake,  TOBACCO,  I 
Would  do  anything  but  die, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  39 

And  but  seek  to  extend  my  days 
Long  enough  to  sing  thy  praise. 
But,  as  she,  who  once  hath  been 
A  king's  consort,  is  a  queen 
Ever  after,  nor  will  bate 
Any  tittle  of  her  state, 
Though  a  widow,  or  divorced, 
So  I,  from  thy  converse  forced, 
The  old  name  and  style  retain, 
A  right  Katherine  of  Spain ; 
And  a  seat,  too,  'mongst  the  joys 
Of  the  blest  Tobacco  Boys : 
Where,  though  I,  by  sour  physician, 
Am  debarred  the  full  fruition 
Of  thy  favours,  I  may  catch 
Some  collateral  sweets,  and  snatch 
Sidelong  odours,  that  give  life 
Like  glances  from  a  neighbour's  wife ; 
And  still  live  in  the  by-places 
And  the  suburbs  of  thy  graces  ; 
And  in  thy  borders  take  delight, 
An  unconquered  Canaanite. 


40  LAMB'S    POETIC  A.L    WORKS. 


LINES 

SUGGESTED  BY  A  PICTURE  OF  TWO  FEMALES  BY  LEONARDO 
DA  VINCI. 

THE  lady  Blanch,  regardless  of  all  her  lover's  fears, 
To  the  TJrs'line  convent  hastens,  and  long  the  Abbess 

hears, 
"  0  Blanch,  my  child,  repent  ye  of  the  courtly  life 

ye  lead." 
Blanch  looked  on   a   rose-bud  and  little  seemed  to 

heed. 
She  looked  on  the  rose-bud,  she  looked  round,  and 

thought 
On  all  her  heart  had  whispered,  and  all  the  Nun  had 

taught. 
"  I  am  worshipped  by  lovers,  and  brightly  shines  my 

fame, 

All  Christendom  resoundeth  the  noble  Blanch's  name. 
Nor  shall  I  quickly  wither  like  the  rose-bud  from  the 

tree, 
My   queen-like    graces   shining   when   my    beauty's 

gone  from  me. 
But  when  the  sculptured  marble  is  raised  o'er  my 

head, 
And  the   matchless   Blanch  lies  lifeless  among  the 

noble  dead, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  41 

This  saintly  lady  Abbess  hath  made  me  justly  fear, 
It  nothing  will   avail   me   that   I   were  worshipped 
here." 


LINES 

ON  THE  SAME  PICTURE  BEING  REMOVED  TO  MAKE  PLACE 
FOR  A  PORTRAIT  OF  A  LADY  BY  TITIAN. 

WHO  art  thou,  fair  one,  who  usurpest  the  place 

Of  Blanch,  the  lady  of  the  matchless  grace  ? 

Come,  fair  and  pretty,  tell  to  me, 

Who,  in  thy  lifetime,  thou  mightest  be. 

Thou  pretty  art  and  fair, 

But  with  the  lady  Blanch  thou  never  must  compare. 

No  need  for  Blanch  her  history  to  tell ; 

Whoever  saw  her  face,  they  there  did  read  it  well. 

But  when  I  look  on  thee,  I  only  know 

There  lived  a  pretty  maid  some  hundred  years  ago. 


TO  T.  L.  H. 

A  CHILD. 


MODEL  of  thy  parent  dear, 
Serious  infant  worth  a  fear 


42  LAMB'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

In  thy  unfaltering  visage  well 
Picturing  forth  the  son  of  TELL, 
"When  on  his  forehead,  firm  and  good, 
Motionless  mark,  the  apple  stood  ; 
Guileless  traitor,  rebel  mild, 
Convict  unconscious,  culprit  child  ! 
Gates  that  close  with  iron  roar 
Have  been  to  thee  thy  nursery  door ; 
Chains  that  chink  in  cheerless  cells 
Have  been  thy  rattles  and  thy  bells ; 
Walls  contrived  for  giant  sin 
Have  hemmed  thy  faultless  weakness  in ; 
Near  thy  sinless  bed  black  Guilt 
Her  discordant  house  hath  built, 
And  filled  it  with  her  monstrous  brood — 
Sights,  by  thee  not  understood — 
Sights  of  fear,  and  of  distress, 
That  pass  a  harmless  infant's  guess ! 

But  the  clouds,  that  overcast 
Thy  young  morning,  may  not  last ; 
Soon  shall  arrive  the  rescuing  hour 
That  yields  thee  up  to  Nature's  power ; 
Nature,  that  so  late  doth  greet  thee, 
Shall  in  o'erflowing  measure  meet  thee. 
She  shall  recompense  with  cost 
For  every  lesson  thou  hast  lost. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  43 

Then  wandering  up  thy  sire's  loved  hill,* 

Thou  shalt  take  thy  airy  fill 

Of  health  and  pastime.    Birds  shall  sing 

For  thy  delight  each  May  morning. 

'Mid  new-yeaned  lambkins  thou  shalt  play, 

Hardly  less  a  lamb  than  they. 

Then  thy  prison's  lengthened  bound 

Shall  be  the  horizon  skirting  round : 

And,  while  thou  fillest  thy  lap  with  flowers, 

To  make  amends  for  wintry  hours, 

The  breeze,  the  sunshine,  and  the  place, 

Shall  from  thy  tender  brow  efface 

Each  vestige  of  untimely  care, 

That  sour  restraint  had  graven  there  ; 

And  on  thy  every  look  impress 

A  more  excelling  childishness. 

So  shall  be  thy  days  beguiled, 
THORNTON  HUNT,  my  favourite  child. 


BALLAD. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN. 

THE  clouds  are  blackening,  the  storms  threatening, 
And  ever  the  forest  maketh  a  moan  ; 

*  Hampstead. 


44  LAMB'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Billows  are  breaking,  the  damsel's  heart  aching, 
Thus  by  herself  she  singeth  alone, 
Weeping  right  plenteously. 

"  The  world  is  empty,  the  heart  is  dead  surely, 
In  this  world  plainly  all  seemeth  amiss ; 

To  thy  breast,  holy  one,  take  now  thy  little  one, 
I  have  had  earnest  of  all  earth's  bliss, 
Living  right  lovingly." 


DAVID  IN  THE  CAVE  OF  ADULLAM. 

DAVID  and  his  three  captains  bold 

Kept  ambush  once  within  a  hold. 

It  was  in  Adullam's  cave, 

Nigh  which  no  water  they  could  have, 

Nor  spring,  nor  running  brook  was  near 

To  quench  the  thirst  that  parched  them  there. 

Then  David,  king  of  Israel, 

Straight  bethought  him  of  a  well, 

Which  stood  beside  the  city  gate, 

At  Bethlem ;  where,  before  his  state 

Of  kingly  dignity,  he  had 

Oft  drunk  his  fill,  a  shepherd  lad ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  45 

But  now  his  fierce  Philistine  foe 

Encamped  before  it  he  does  know. 

Yet  ne'er  the  less,  with  heat  opprest, 

Those  three  hold  captains  he  addrest ; 

And  wished  that  one  to  him  would  bring 

Some  water  from  his  native  spring. 

His  valiant  captains  instantly 

To  execute  his  will  did  fly. 

The  mighty  Three  the  ranks  broke  through 

Of  armed  foes,  and  water  drew 

For  David,  their  beloved  king, 

At  his  own  sweet  native  spring. 

Back  through  their  armed  foes  they  haste, 

With  the  hard-earned  treasure  graced. 

But  when  the  good  king  David  found 

What  they  had  done,  he  on  the  ground 

The  water  poured.     «  Because,"  said  he, 

"  That  it  was  at  the  jeopardy 

Of  your  three  lives  this  thing  ye  did, 

That  I  should  drink  it,  God  forbid." 


SALOME. 

OXCE  on  a  charger  there  was  laid, 
And  brought  before  a  royal  maid, 


46  LAMB'S   POETICAL    WORKS. 

As  price  of  attitude  and  grace, 
A  guiltless  head,  a  holy  face. 

It  was  on  Herod's  natal  day, 
Who  o'er  Judea's  land  held  sway. 
He  married  his  own  brother's  wife, 
Wicked  Herodias.     She  the  life 
Of  John  the  Baptist  long  had  sought, 
Because  he  openly  had  taught 
That  she  a  life  unlawful  led, 
Having  her  husband's  brother  wed. 

This  was  he,  that  saintly  John, 
Who  in  the  wilderness  alone 
Abiding,  did  for  clothing  wear 
A  garment  made  of  camel's  hair  ; 
Honey  and  locusts  were  his  food, 
And  he  was  most  severely  good. 
He  preached  penitence  and  tears, 
And  waking  first  the  sinner's  fears, 
Prepared  a  path,  made  smooth  a  way, 
For  his  diviner  Master's  day. 

Herod  kept  in  princely  state 

His  birth-day.     On  his  throne  he  sate, 

After  the  feast,  beholding  her 

Who  danced  with  grace  peculiar ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  47 

Fair  Salome,  who  did  excel 

All  in  that  land  for  dancing  well. 

The  feastful  monarch's  heart  was  fired, 

And  whatsoe'er  thing  she  desired, 

Though  half  his  kingdom  it  should  be, 

He  in  his  pleasure  swore  that  he 

Would  give  the  graceful  Salome. 

The  damsel  was  Herodias'  daughter. 

She  to  the  queen  hastes,  and  besought  her 

To  teach  her  what  great  gift  to  name. 

Instructed  by  Herodias,  came 

The  damsel  back  ;  to  Herod  said, 

"  Give  me  John  the  Baptist's  head ; 

And  in  a  charger  let  it  be 

Hither  straightway  brought  to  me." 

Herod  her  suit  would  fain  deny, 

But  for  his  oath's  sake  must  comply. 

• 

When  painters  would  by  art  express 
Beauty  in  unloveliness, 
Thee,  Herodias'  daughter,  thee, 
They  fittest  subject  take  to  be. 
They  give  thy  form  and  features  grace ; 
But  ever  in  thy  beauteous  face 
They  show  a  steadfast  cruel  gaze, 
An  eye  unpitying  ;  and  amaze 
In  all  beholders  deep  they  mark, 
That  thou  betrayest  not  one  spark 


48  LAMB'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Of  feeling  for  the  ruthless  deed, 
That  did  thy  praiseful  dance  succeed. 
For  on  the  head  they  make  you  look, 
As  if  a  sullen  joy  you  took, 
A  cruel  triumph,  wicked  pride, 
That  for  your  sport  a  saint  had  died. 


LINES 

ON  THE  CELEBRATED  PICTURE  BY  LEONARDO  DA  VINCI, 
CALLED  THE  VIRGIN  OF  THE  ROCKS. 

WHILE  young  John  runs  to  greet 

The  greater  Infant's  feet, 

The  Mother  standing  by,  with  trembling  passion 

Of  devout  admiration, 

Beholds  the  engaging  mystic  play,  and  pretty  adora- 
tion; 

Nor  knows  as  yet  the  full  event 

Of  those  so  low  beginnings, 

From  whence  we  date  our  winnings, 

But  wonders  at  the  intent 

Of  those  new  rites,  and  what  that  strange  child-wor- 
ship meant. 

But  at  her  side 

An  angel  doth  abide, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  49 

With  such  a  perfect  joy 
As  no  dim  doubts  alloy, 
An  intuition, 
A  glory,  an  amenity, 
Passing  the  dark  condition 
Of  blind  humanity, 
As  if  he  surely  knew 
All  the  blest  wonder  should  ensue, 
Or  he  had  lately  left  the  upper  sphere, 
And  had  read  all  the  sovran  schemes  and  divine  rid- 
dles there. 


ON  THE  SAME. 

MATERNAL  lady  with  the  virgin  grace, 

Heaven-born  thy  Jesus  seemeth  sure, 

And  thou  a  virgin  pure. 

Lady  most  perfect,  when  thy  sinless  face 

Men  look  upon,  they  wish  to  be 

A  Catholic,  Madonna  fair,  to  worship  thee. 


50  LAMB'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

ANGEL  HELP.* 

THIS  rare  tablet  doth  include 

Poverty  with  Sanctitude. 

Past  midnight  this  poor  niaid  hath  spun, 

And  yet  the  work  is  not  half  done, 

Which  must  supply  from  earnings  scant 

A  feeble  bed-rid  parent's  want. 

Her  sleep-charged  eyes  exemption  ask, 

And  holy  hands  take  up  the  task ; 

Unseen  the  rock  and  spindle  ply, 

And  do  her  earthly  drudgery. 

Sleep,  saintly  poor  one  !  sleep,  sleep  on  ; 

And,  waking,  find  thy  labours  done. 

Perchance  she  knows  it  by  her  dreams  ; 

Her  eye  hath  caught  the  golden  gleams, 

Angelic  presence  testifying, 

That  round  her  everywhere  are  flying ; 

Ostents  from  which  she  may  presume, 

That  much  of  heaven  is  in  the  room. 

Skirting  her  own  bright  hair  they  run, 

And  to  the  sunny  add  more  sun : 

.  *  Suggested  by  a  drawing  in  the  possession  of  Charles  Aders,  Esq.,  in 
which  is  represented  the  legend  of  a  poor  female  saint :  who,  having 
spun  past  midnight,  to  maintain  a  bed-rid  mother,  has  fallen  asleep 
from  fatigue,  and  angels  are  finishing  her  work.  In  another  part  of 
the  chamber  an  angel  is  tending  a  lily,  the  emblem  of  purity. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  51 

Now  on  that  aged  face  they  fix, 

Streaming  from  the  Crucifix  ; 

The  flesh-clogged  spirit  disabusing, 

Death-disarming  sleeps  infusing, 

Prelibations,  foretastes  high, 

And  equal  thoughts  to  live  or  die. 

Gardener  bright  from  Eden's  bower, 

Tend  with  care  that  lily  flower  ; 

To  its  leaves  and  root  infuse 

Heaven's  sunshine,  Heaven's  dews. 

'Tis  a  type,  and  'tis  a  pledge, 

Of  a  crowning  privilege. 

Careful  as  that  lily  flower, 

This  Maid  must  keep  her  precious  dower ; 

Live  a  sainted  Maid,  or  die 

Martyr  to  virginity. 


ON  AN  INFANT  DYING  AS  SOON  AS 
BORN. 

I  SAW  where  in  the  shroud  did  lurk 
•  A  curious  frame  of  Nature's  work. 
A  floweret  crushed  in  the  bud, 
A  nameless  piece  of  Babyhood, 


52  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

Was  in  her  cradle- coffin  I}7 ing ; 

Extinct,  with  scarce  the  sense  of  dying : 

So  soon  to  exchange  the  imprisoning  womb 

For  darker  closets  of  the  tomb  ! 

She  did  but  ope  an  eye,  and  put 

A  clear  beam  forth,  then  straight  up  shut 

For  the  long  dark  :  ne'er  more  to  see 

Through  glasses  of  mortality. 

Riddle  of  destiny,  who  can  show 

What  thy  short  visit  meant,  or  know 

What  thy  errand  here  below  ? 

Shall  we  say,  that  Nature  blind 

Checked  her  hand,  and  changed  her  mind, 

Just  when  she  had  exactly  wrought 

A  finished  pattern  without  fault  ? 

Could  she  flag,  or  could  she  tire, 

Or  lacked  she  the  Promethean  fire 

(With  her  nine  moons'  long  workings  sickened) 

That  should  thy  little  limbs  have  quickened  ? 

Limbs  so  firm,  they  seemed  to  assure 

Life  of  health  and  days  mature : 

Woman's  self  in  miniature  ! 

Limbs  so  fair,  they  might  supply 

(Themselves  now  but  cold  imagery) 

The  sculptor  to  make  Beauty  by. 

Or  did  the  stern-eyed  Fate  descry, 

That  babe,  or  mother,  one  must  die ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  53 

So  in  mercy  left  the  stock, 

And  cut  the  branch ;  to  save  the  shock 

Of  young  years  widowed ;  and  the  pain, 

When  single  state  comes  back  again 

To  the  lone  man  who,  'reft  of  wife, 

Thenceforward  drags  a  maimed  life  ? 

The  economy  of  Heaven  is  dark  ; 

And  wisest  clerks  have  missed  the  mark, 

Why  Human  Buds,  like  this,  should  fall, 

More  brief  than  fly  ephemeral, 

That  has  his  day ;  while  shrivelled  crones 

Stiffen  with  age  to  stocks  and  stones, 

And  crabbed  use  the  conscience  sears 

In  sinners  of  an  hundred  years. 

Mother's  prattle,  mother's  kiss, 

Baby  fond,  thou  ne'er  wilt  miss. 

Rites,  which  custom  does  impose, 

Silver  bells  and  baby  clothes ; 

Coral  redder  than  those  lips, 

Which  pale  death  did  late  eclipse ; 

Music  framed  for  infants'  glee, 

Whistle  never  tuned  for  thee  ; 

Though  thou  wantest  not,  thou  shalt  have  them, 

Loving  hearts  were  they  which  gave  them. 

Let  not  one  be  missing ;  nurse, 

See  them  laid  upon  the  hearse 

Of  infant  slain  by  doom  perverse. 

5* 


54  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

Why  should  kings  and  nobles  have 
Pictured  trophies  to  their  grave ; 
And  we,  churls,  to  thee  deny 
Thy  pretty  toys  with  thee  to  lie, 
A  more  harmless  vanity  ? 


THE  CHRISTENING. 

ARRAYED — a  half-angelic  sight — 
In  vests  of  pure  Baptismal  white, 
The  Mother  to  the  Font  doth  bring 
The  little  helpless  nameless  thing, 
With  hushes  soft  and  mild  caressing, 
At  once  to  get — a  name  and  blessing. 
Close  by  the  babe  the  Priest  doth  stand, 
The  Cleansing  Water  at  his  hand, 
Which  must  assoil  the  soul  within 
From  every  stain  of  Adam's  sin. 
The  Infant  eyes  the  mystic  scenes, 
Nor  knows  what  all  this  wonder  means ; 
And  now  he  smiles,  as  if  to  say 
« I  am  a  Christian  made  this  day;" 
Now  frighted  clings  to  Nurse's  hold, 
Shrinking  from  the  water  cold, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  5-5 

Whose  virtues,  rightly  understood, 
Are,  as  Bethesda's  waters,  good. 
Strange  words — The  World,  the  Flesh,  the  Devil — 
Poor  Babe,  what  can  it  know  of  Evil  ? 
But  we  must  silently  adore 
Mysterious  truths,  and  not  explore. 
Enough  for  him,  in  after-times, 
When  he  shall  read  these  artless  rhymes, 
If,  looking  back  upon  this  day 
With  quiet  conscience,  he  can  say — 
"  I  have  in  part  redeemed  the  pledge 
Of  my  Baptismal  privilege  ; 
And  more  and  more  will  strive  to  flee 
All  which  my  Sponsors  kind  did  then  renounce  for 
me." 


THE  YOUNG  CATECHIST.* 

WHILE  this  tawny  Ethiop  prayeth, 
Painter,  who  is  she  that  stayeth 
By,  with  skin  of  whitest  lustre, 
Sunny  locks,  a  shining  cluster, 
Saint-like  seeming  to  direct  him 
To  the  Power  that  must  protect  him  ? 

*  A  picture  by  Henry  Meyer,  Esq. 


56  LAMB'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

Is  she  of  the  Heaven-born  Three, 

Meek  Hope,  strong  Faith,  sweet  Charity ; 

Or  some  Cherub  ? 

They  you  mention 
Far  transcend  my  weak  invention. 
'Tis  a  simple  Christian  child, 
Missionary  young  and  mild, 
From  her  stock  of  Scriptural  knowledge, 
Bible-taught  without  a  college, 
Which  by  reading  she  could  gather, 
Teaches  him  to  say  OUR  FATHER 
To  the  common  Parent,  who 
Colour  not  respects,  nor  hue. 
White  and  black  in  Him  have  part, 
Who  looks  not  to  the  skin,  but  heart. 


TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND, 

ON  HER  TWENTY-FIRST  BIRTH-DAY. 

CROWN  me  a  cheerful  goblet,  while  I  pray 

A  blessing  on  thy  years,  young  Isola ; 

Young,  but  no  more  a  child.     How  swift  have  flown 

To  me  thy  girlish  times,  a  woman  grown 

Beneath  my  heedless  eyes  !  in  vain  I  rack 

My  fancy  to  believe  the  almanac 


MISCELLANEOUS.  57 

That  speaks  thee  Twenty-One.     Thou  shouldst  have 

still 

Remained  a  child,  and  at  thy  sovereign  will 
Gambolled  about  our  house,  as  in  times  past. 
Ungrateful  Emma,  to  grow  up  so  fast, 
Hastening  to  leave  thy  friends  ! — for  which  intent, 
Fond  Runagate,  be  this  thy  punishment 
After  some  thirty  years,  spent  in  such  bliss 
As  this  earth  can  afford,  where  still  we  miss 
Something  of  joy  entire,  may'st  thou  grow  old 
As  we  whom  thou  hast  left !     That  wish  was  cold. 
0  far  more  aged  and  wrinkled,  till  folks  say, 
Looking  upon  thee  reverend  in  decay, 
«  This  Dame,  for  length  of  days,  and  virtues  rare, 
With  her  respected  Grandsire  may  compare." 
Grandchild  of  that  respected  Isola, 
Thou  shouldst  have  had  about  thee  on  this  day 
Kind  looks  of  Parents,  to  congratulate 
Their  Pride  grown  up  to  woman's  grave  estate. 
But  they  have  died,  and  left  thee,  to  advance 
Thy  fortunes  how  thou  mayest,  and  owe  to  chance 
The  friends  which  nature  grudged.   And  thou  wilt  find, 
Or  make  such,  Emma,  if  I  am  not  blind 
To  thee  and  thy  deservings.     That  last  strain 
Had  too  much  sorrow  in  it.     Fill  again 
Another  cheerful  goblet,  while  I  say 
"  Health,  and  twice  health,  to  our  lost  Isola." 


58  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


SHE  IS  GOING. 

FOR  their  elder  Sister's  hair 
Martha  does  a  wreath  prepare 
Of  bridal  rose,  ornate  and  gay  ; 
To-morrow  is  the  wedding-day. 

She  is  going. 

Mary,  youngest  of  the  three, 
Laughing  idler,  full  of  glee, 
Arm  in  arm  does  fondly  chain  her, 
Thinking,  poor  trifler,  to  detain  her — 
But  she's  going. 

Vex  not,  maidens,  nor  regret 
Thus  to  part  with  Margaret. 
Charms  like  yours  can  never  stay 
Long  within  doors  ;  and  one  day 

You'll  he  going. 


SONNETS. 
i. 

TO  MISS  KELLY. 

You  are  not,  Kelly,  of  the  common  strain, 
That  stoop  their  pride  and  female  honour  down 
To  please  that  many-headed  beast  the  town, 
And  vend  their  lavish  smiles  and  tricks  for  gain  ; 
By  fortune  thrown  amid  the  actors'  train, 
You  keep  your  native  dignity  of  thought ; 
The  plaudits  that  attend  you  come  unsought, 
As  tributes  due  unto  your  natural  vein. 
Your  tears  have  passion  in  them,  and  a  grace 
Of  genuine  freshness,  which  our  hearts  avow ; 
Your  smiles  are  winds  whose  ways  we  cannot  trace, 
That  vanish  and  return  we  know  not  how — 
And  please  the  better  from  a  pensive  face, 
A  thoughtful  eye,  and  a  reflecting  brow. 

II. 

ON  THE  SIGHT  OF  SWANS  IN  KENSINGTON  GARDEN. 

QUEEN-BIRD  that  sittest  on  thy  shining  nest, 
And  thy  young  cygnets  without  sorrow  hatchest, 

(59) 


60  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

And  thou,  thou  other  royal  bird,  that  watchest 
Lest  the  white  mother  wandering  feet  molest : 
Shrined  are  your  offspring  in  a  crystal  cradle, 
Brighter  than  Helen's  ere  she  yet  had  burst 
Her  shelly  prison.     They  shall  be  born  at  first 
Strong,  active,  graceful,  perfect,  swan-like  able 
To  tread  the  land  or  waters  with  security. 
Unlike  poor  human  births,  conceived  in  sin, 
In  grief  brought  forth,  both  outwardly  and  in 
Confessing  weakness,  error,  and  impurity. 
Did  heavenly  creatures  own  succession's  line, 
The  births  of  heaven  like  to  yours  would  shine. 

in. 

WAS  it  some  sweet  device  of  Faery 

That  mocked  my  steps  with  many  a  lonely  glade, 

And  fancied  wanderings  with  a  fair-haired  maid  ? 

Have  these  things  been?  or  what  rare  witchery, 

Impregning  with  delights  the  charmed  air, 

Enlighted  up  the  semblance  of  a  smile 

In  those  fine  eyes  ?  rnethought  they  spake  the  while 

Soft  soothing  things,  which  might  enforce  despair 

To  drop  the  murdering  knife,  and  let  go  by 

His  foul  resolve.      And  does  the  lonely  glade 

Still  court  the  footsteps  of  the  fair-haired  maid  ? 

Still  in  her  locks  the  gales  of  summer  sigh? 

While  I  forlorn  do  wander  reckless  where, 

And  'mid  my  wanderings  meet  no  Anna  there. 


SONNETS.  61 

IV. 

METHINKS  how  dainty  sweet  it  were,  reclined 

Beneath  the  vast  out-stretching  branches  high 

Of  some  old  wood,  in  careless  sort  to  lie, 

Nor  of  the  busier  scenes  we  left  behind 

Aught  envying.      And,  0  Anna  !  mild-eyed  maid  ! 

Beloved !  I  were  well  content  to  play 

With  thy  free  tresses  all  a  summer's  day, 

Losing  the  time  beneath  the  greenwood  shade. 

Or  we  might  sit  and  tell  some  tender  tale 

Of  faithful  vows  repaid  by  cruel  scorn, 

A  tale  of  true  love,  or  of  friend  forgot ; 

And  I  would  teach  thee,  lady,  how  to  rail 

In  gentle  sort,  on  those  who  practise  not 

Or  love  or  pity,  though  of  woman  born. 

V. 

WHEN  last  I  roved  these  winding  wood-walks  green, 
Green  winding  walks,  and  shady  pathways  sweet, 
Oftthnes  would  Anna  seek  the  silent  scene, 
Shrouding  her  beauties  in  the  lone  retreat. 
No  more  I  hear  her  footsteps  in  the  shade : 
Her  image  only  in  these  pleasant  ways 
Meets  me  self-wandering,  where  in  happier  days 
I  held  free  converse  with  the  fair-haired  maid. 
I  passed  the  little  cottage  which  she  loved, 
6 


62  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

The  cottage  which  did  once  my  all  contain ; 
It  spake  of  days  which  ne'er  must  come  again, 
Spake  to  my  heart,  and  much  my  heart  was  moved. 
"Now  fair  befall  thee,  gentle  maid !"  said  I, 
And  from  the  cottage  turned  me  with  a  sigh. 

VI. 
THE  FAMILY  NAME. 

WHAT  reason  first  imposed  thee,  gentle  name, 
Name  that  my  father  bore,  and  his  sire's  sire, 
Without  reproach  ?  we  trace  our  stream  no  higher ; 
And  I,  a  childless  man,  may  end  the  same. 
Perchance  some  shepherd  on  Lincolnian  plains, 
In  manners  guileless  as  his  own  sweet  flocks, 
Received  thee  first  amid  the  merry  mocks 
And  arch  allusions  of  his  fellow  swains. 
Perchance  from  Salem's  holier  fields  returned, 
With  glory  gotten  on  the  heads  abhorred 
Of  faithless  Saracens,  some  martial  lord 
Took  HIS  meek  title,  in  whose  zeal  he  burned. 
Whate'er  the  fount  whence  thy  beginnings  came, 
No  deed  of  mine  shall  shame  thee,  gentle  name. 

VII. 

IF  from  my  lips  some  angry  accents  fell, 
Peevish  complaint,  or  harsh  reproof  unkind, 


SONNETS.  63 

'Twas  but  the  error  of  a  sickly  mind 

And  troubled  thoughts,  clouding  the  purer  well, 

And  waters  clear,  of  Reason ;  and  for  me 

Let  this  my  verse  the  poor  atonement  be — 

My  verse,  which  thou  to  praise  wert  ever  inclined 

Too  highly,  and  with  a  partial  eye  to  see 

No  blemish.     Thou  to  me  didst  ever  show 

Kindest  affection  ;  and  would  ofttimes  lend 

An  ear  to  the  desponding  love-sick  lay, 

Weeping  my  sorrows  with  me,  who  repay 

But  ill  the  mighty  debt  of  love  I  owe, 

Mary,  to  thee,  my  sister  and  my  friend. 

VIII. 

A  TIMID  grace  sits  trembling  in  her  eye, 
As  loath  to  meet  the  rudeness  of  men's  sight, 
Yet  shedding  a  delicious  lunar  light, 
That  steeps  in  kind  oblivious  ecstasy 
The  care-crazed  mind,  like  some  still  melody : 
Speaking  most  plain  the  thoughts  which  do  possess 
Her  gentle  sprite :  peace,  and  meek  quietness, 
And  innocent  loves,  and  maiden  purity : 
A  look  whereof  might  heal  the  cruel  smart 
Of  changed  friends,  or  fortune's  wrongs  unkind ; 
Might  to  sweet  deeds  of  mercy  move  the  heart 
Of  him  who  hates  his  brethren  of  mankind. 
Turned  are  those  lights  from  me,  who  fondly  yet 
Past  joys,  vain  loves,  and  buried  hopes  regret. 


64  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

IX. 
TO  JOHN  LAMB,  ESQ.,  OF  THE  SOUTH-SEA  HOUSE. 

JOHN,  you  were  figuring  in  the  gay  career 
Of  blooming  manhood  with  a  young  man's  joy, 
When  I  was  yet  a  little  peevish  boy — 
Though  time  has  made  the  difference  disappear 
Betwixt  our  ages,  which  then  seemed  so  great — 
And  still  by  rightful  custom  you  retain 
Much  of  the  old  authoritative'  strain, 
And  keep  the  elder  brother  up  in  state, 
0  !  you  do  well  in  this.      'Tis  man's  worst  deed 
To  let  the  "things  that  have  been"  run  to  waste, 
And  in  the  unmeaning  present  sink  the  past : 
In  whose  dim  glass  even  now  I  faintly  read 
Old  buried  forms,  and  faces  long  ago, 
Which  you,  and  I,  and  one  more,  only  know. 


0  !  I  could  laugh  to  hear  the  midnight  wind, 
That,  rushing  on  its  way  with  careless  sweep, 
Scatters  the  ocean  waves.     And  I  could  weep 
Like  to  a  child.     For  now  to  my  raised  mind 
On  wings  of  winds  comes  wild-eyed  Phantasy, 
And  her  rude  visions  give  severe  delight. 
0  winged  bark  !  how  swift  along  the  night 
Passed  thy  proud  keel !  nor  shall  I  let  go  by 


SONNETS.  66 

Lightly  of  that  drear  hour  the  memory, 
When  wet  and  chilly  on  thy  deck  I  stood, 
Unbonneted,  and  gazed  upon  the  flood, 
Even  till  it  seemed  a  pleasant  thing  to  die, — 
To  be  resolved  into  the  elemental  wave, 
Or  take  my  portion  with  the  winds  that  rave. 

XI. 

WE  were  two  pretty  babes,  the  youngest  she, 

The  youngest,  and  the  loveliest  far,  I  ween, 

And  INNOCENCE  her  name.     The  time  has  been, 

We  two  did  love  each  other's  company ; 

Time  was,  we  two  had  wept  to  have  been  apart. 

But  when  by  show  of  seeming  good  beguiled, 

I  left  the  garb  and  manners  of  a  child, 

And  my  first  love  for  man's  society, 

Defiling  with  the  world  my  virgin  heart — 

My  loved  companion  dropped  a  tear,  and  fled, 

And  hid  in  deepest  shades  her  awful  head. 

Beloved,  who  shall  tell  me  where  thou  art — 

In  what  delicious  Eden  to  be  found — 

That"  I  may  seek  thee  the  wide  world  around  ?     * 


66  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


HARMONY  IN  UNLIKENESS. 

BY  Enfield  lanes,  and  Winchmore's  verdant  hill, 
Two  lovely  damsels  cheer  my  lonely  walk  ; 
The  fair  Maria,  as  a  vestal,  still ; 
And  Emma  brown,  exuberant  in  talk. 
With  soft  and  Lady  speech  the  first  applies 
The  mild  correctives  that  to  grace  belong 
To  her  redundant  friend,  who"  her  defies 
With  jest,  and  mad  discourse,  and  bursts  of  song. 
0  differing  Pair,  yet  sweetly  thus  agreeing, 
What  music  from  your  happy  discord  rises, 
While  your  companion  hearing  each,  and  seeing, 
Nor  this,  nor  that,  but  both  together,  prizes ; 
This  lesson  teaching,  which  our  souls  may  strike, 
That  harmonies  may  be  in  things  unlike ! 


WRITTEN  AT  CAMBRIDGE. 

I  WAS  not  trained  in  Academic  bowers, 
And  to  those  learned  streams  I  nothing  owe 
Which  copious  from  those  twin  fair  founts  do  flow ; 
Mine  have  been  anything  but  studious  hours. 
Yet  can  I  fancy,  wandering  mid  thy  towers, 


SONNETS.  67 

Myself  a  nursling,  Granta,  of  thy  lap  ; 

My  brow  seems  tightening  with  the  Doctor's  cap, 

And  I  walk  gowned  ;  feel  unusual  powers. 

Strange  forms  of  logic  clothe  my  admiring  speech, 

Old  Ramus'  ghost  is  busy  at  my  brain  ; 

And  my  skull  teems  with  notions  infinite. 

Be  still,  ye  reeds  of  Camus,  while  I  teach 

Truths,  which  transcend  the  searching  Schoolmen's 

vein, 
And  half  had  staggered  that  stout  Stagirite  ! 


TO  A  CELEBRATED  FEMALE  PERFORMER 
IN  THE  "BLIND  BOY." 

RARE  artist !  who  with  half  thy  tools,  or  none, 
Canst  execute  with  ease  thy  curious  art, 
And  press  thy  powerful'st  meanings  on  the  heart, 
Unaided  by  the  eye,  expression's  throne ! 
While  each  blind  sense,  intelligential  grown 
Beyond  its  sphere,  performs  the  effect  of  sight ; 
Those  orbs  alone,  wanting  their  proper  might, 
All  motionless  and  silent  seem  to  moan 
The  unseemly  negligence  of  nature's  hand, 
That  left  them  so  forlorn.     What  praise  is  thine, 
0  mistress  of  the  passions  ;  artist  fine  ! 


68  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

Who  dost  our  souls  against  our  sense  command, 
Plucking  the  horror  from  a  sightless  face, 
Lending  to  blank  deformity  a  grace. 


WORK. 

• 

WHO  first  invented  work,  and  bound  the  free 

And  holiday-rejoicing  spirit  down 

To  the  ever-haunting  importunity 

Of  business  in  the  'green  fields,  and  the  town — 

To  plough,  loom,  anvil,  spade — and  oh !  most  sad, 

To  that  dry  drudgery  at  the  desk's  dead  wood  ? 

Who  but  the  Being  unblessed,  alien  from  good, 

Sabbathless  Satan !  he  who  his  unglad 

Task  ever  plies  'mid  rotatory  burnings, 

That  round  and  round  incalculably  reel — 

For  wrath  divine  hath  made  him  like  a  wheel — 

In  that  red  realm  from  which  are  no  returnings ; 

Where  toiling,  and  turmoiling,  ever  and  aye, 

He,  and  his  thoughts,  keep  pensive  working-day. 


SONNETS.  69 


LEISURE. 

THEY  talk  of  time,  and  of  time's  galling  yoke, 
That  like  a  mill-stone  on  a  man's  mind  doth  press, 
Which  only  works  and  business  can  redress ; 
Of  divine  Leisure  such  foul  lies  are  spoke, 
Wounding  her  fair  gifts  with  calumnious  stroke. 
But  might  I,  fed  with  silent  meditation, 
Assoiled  live  from  that  fiend  Occupation — 
Improbm  Labor,  which  my  spirits  hath  broke — 
I'd  drink  of  time's  rich  cup,  and  never  surfeit ; 
Fling  in  more  days  than  went  to  make  the  gem 
That  crowned  the  white  top  of  Methusalem ; 
Yea,  on  my  weak  neck  take,  and  never  forfeit, 
Like  Atlas  bearing  up  the  dainty  sky, 
The  heaven-sweet  burthen  of  eternity. 

DEUS  NOBIS  II^C  OTIA  FECIT. 


TO  SAMUEL  ROGERS,  ESQ. 

ROGERS,  of  all  the  men  that  I  have  known 
But  slightly,  who  have  died,  your  Brother's  loss 
Touched  me  most  sensibly.     There  came  across 
My  mind  an  image  of  the  cordial  tone 


70  LAMB'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

Of  your  fraternal  meetings,  where  a  guest 
•I  more  than  once  have  sat ;  and  grieve  to  think, 
That  of  that  threefold  cord  one  precious  link 
By  Death's  rude  hand  is  severed  from  the  rest. 
Of  our  old  gentry  he  appeared  a  stem — 
A  Magistrate  who,  while  the  evil-doer 
He  kept  in  terror,  could  respect  the  Poor, 
And  not  for  every  trifle  harass  them, 
As  some,  divine  and  laic,  top  oft  do. 
This  man's  a  private  lo'ss,  and  public  too. 


THE  GIPSY'S  MALISON. 

"  SUCK,  baby,  suck  !  mother's  love  grows  by  giving ; 
Drain  the  sweet  founts  that  only  thrive  by  wasting ; 
Black  manhood  comes,  when  riotous  guilty  living 
Hands  thee  the  cup  that  shall  be  death  in  tasting. 

Kiss,  baby,  kiss  !  mother's  lips  shine  by  kisses  ; 
Choke  the  warm  breath  that  else  would  fall  in  bless- 
ings; 

Black  manhood  comes,  when  turbulent  guilty  blisses 
Tend  thee  the  kiss  that  poisons  'mid  caressings. 


SONNETS.  71 

Hang,  baby,  hang  !  mother's  love  loves  such  forces, 
Strain  the  fond  neck  that  bends  still  to  thy  clinging ; 
Black  manhood  comes,  "when  violent  lawless  courses 
Leave  thee  a  spectacle  in  rude  air  swinging." 

So  sang  a  withered  Beldam  energetical, 

And  banned  the  ungiving  door  with  lips  prophetical. 


BLANK    VEESE. 

CHILPHOOD. 

IN  my  poor  mind  it  is  most  sweet  to  muse 

Upon  the  days  gone  by ;  to  act  in  thought 

Past  seasons  o'er,  and  be  again  a  child ; 

To  sit  in  fancy  on  the  turf-clad  slope, 

Down  which  the  child  would  roll ;  to  pluck  gay  flowers, 

Make  posies  in  the  sun,  which  the  child's  hand 

(Childhood  offended  soon,  soon  reconciled), 

Would  throw  away,  and  straight  take  up  again, 

Then  fling  them  to  the  winds,  and  o'er  the  lawn 

Bound  with  so  playful  and  so  light  a  foot, 

That  the  pressed  daisy  scarce  declined  her  head. 


THE  GRANDAME. 

ON  the  green  hill  top, 

Hard  by  the  house  of  prayer,  a  modest  roof, 
And  not  distinguished  from  its  neighbour-barn, 

(72) 


BLANK    VERSE.  73 

Save  by  a  slender-tapering  length  of  spire, 
The  Grandame  sleeps.     A  plain  stone  barely  tells 
The  name  and  date  to  the  chance  passenger. 
For  lowly  born  was  she,  and  long  had  eat, 
Well-earned,  the  bread  of  service  : — hers  was  else 
A  mountain  spirit,  one  that  entertained 
Scorn  of  base  action,  deed  dishonourable, 
Or  aught  unseemly.     I  remember  well 
Her  reverend  image  ;  I  remember,  too, 
With  what  a  zeal  she  served  her  master's  house ; 
And  how  the  prattling  tongue  of  garrulous  age 
Delighted  to  recount  the  oft-told  tale 
Or  anecdote  domestic.      Wise  she  was, 
And  wondrous  skilled  in  genealogies, 
And  could  in  apt  and  voluble  terms  discourse 
Of  births,  of  titles,  and  alliances ; 
Of  marriages,  and  intermarriages  ; 
Relationship  remote,  or  near  of  kin  ; 
Of  friends  offended,  family  disgraced — 
Maiden  high-born,  but  wayward,  disobeying 
Parental  strict  injunction,  and  regardless 
Of  unmixed  blood,  and  ancestry  remote, 
Stooping  to  wed  with  one  of  low  degree. 
But  these  are  not  thy  praises ;  and  I  wrong 
Thy  honoured  memory,  recording  chiefly 
Things  light  or  trivial.     Better  'twere  to  tell, 
How  with  a  nobler  zeal,  and  warmer  love, 
7 


74  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

She  served  her  heavenly  Master.      I  have  seen 
That  reverend  form  bent  down  with  age  and  pain, 
And  rankling  malady.     Yet  not  for  this 
Ceased  she  to  praise  her  Maker,  or  withdrew 
Her  trust  in  him,  her  faith,  an  humble  hope — 
So  meekly  had  she  learned  to  bear  her  cross — 
For  she  had  studied  patience  in  the  school 
Of  Christ ;  much  comfort  she  had  thence  derived, 
And  was  a  follower  of  the  NAZARENE. 


FANCY  EMPLOYED  ON  DIVINE  SUBJECTS. 

THE  truant  Fancy  was  a  wanderer  ever, 
A  lone  enthusiast  maid.     She  loves  to  walk 
In  the  bright  visions  of  empyreal  light, 
By  the  green  pastures,  and  the  fragrant  meads, 
Where  the  perpetual  flowers  of  Eden  blow  ; 
By  crystal  streams,  and  by  the  living  waters, 
Along  whose  margin  grows  the  wondrous  tree 
Whose  leaves  shall  heal  the  nations  ;  underneath 
Whose  holy  shade  a  refuge  shall  be  found 
From  pain  and  want,  and  all  the  ills  that  wait 
On  mortal  life,  from  sin  and  death  for  ever. 


BLANK   VERSE.  <° 

COMPOSED  AT  MIDNIGHT. 

FROM  broken  visions  of  perturbed  rest 

I  wake,  and  start,  and  fear  to  sleep  again. 

How  total  a  privation  of  all  sounds, 

Sights,  and  familiar  objects,  man,  bird,  beast, 

Herb,  tree,  or  flower,  and  prodigal  light  of  heaven^ 

'Twere  some  relief  to  catch  the  drowsy  cry 

Of  the  mechanic  watchman,  or  the  noise 

Of  revel  reeling  home  from  midnight  cups. 

Those  are  the  moanings  of  the  dying  man, 

Who  lies  in  the  upper  chamber ;  restless  moans, 

And  interrupted  only  by  a  cough 

Consumptive,  torturing  the  wasted  lungs. 

So  in  the  bitterness  of  death  he  lies, 

And  waits  in  anguish  for  the  morning's  light. 

What  can  that  do  for  him,  or  what  restore  ? 

Short  taste,  faint  sense,  affecting  notices, 

And  little  images  of  pleasures  past, 

Of  health,  and  active  life — health  not  yet  slain, 

Nor  the  other  grace  of  life,  a  good  name,  sold 

For  sin's  black  wages.     On  his  tedious  bed 

He  writhes,  and  turns  him  from  the  accusing  light, 

Ancl  finds  no  comfort  in  the  sun,  but  says 

"When  night  comes  I  shall  get  a  little  rest." 

Some  few  groans  more,  death  comes,  and  there  an  end. 

'Tis  darkness  and  conjecture  all  beyond ; 

Weak  Nature  fears,  though  Charity  must  hope, 


76  LAMB'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

And  Fancy,  most  licentious  on  such  themes 

Where  decent  reverence  well  had  kept  her  mute, 

Hath  o'er-stocked  hell  with  devils,  and  brought  down 

By  her  enormous  fablings  and  mad  lies, 

Discredit  on  the  gospel's  serious  truths 

And  salutary  fears.     The  man  of  parts, 

Poet,  or  prose  declaimer,  on  his  couch 

Lolling,  like  one  indifferent,  fabricates 

A  heaven  of  gold,  where  he,  and  such  as  he, 

Their  heads  encompassed  with  crowns,  their  heels 

With  fine  wings  garlanded,  shall  tread  the  stars 

Beneath  their  feet,  heaven's  pavement,  far  removed 

From  damned  spirits,  and  the  torturing  cries 

Of  men,  his  brethren,  fashioned  of  the  earth, 

As  he  was,  nourished  with  the  self-same  bread, 

Belike  his  kindred  or  companions  once — 

Through  everlasting  ages  now  divorced, 

In  chains  and  savage  torments  to  repent 

Short  years  of  folly  on  earth.    Their  groans  unheard 

In  heaven,  the  saint  nor  pity  feels,  nor  care, 

For  those  thus  sentenced — pity  might  disturb 

The  delicate  sense  and  most  divine  repose 

Of  spirits  angelical.     Blessed  be  God, 

The  measure  of  his  judgments  is  not  fixed 

By  man's  erroneous  standard.     He  discerns 

No  such  inordinate  difference  and  vast 

Betwixt  the  sinner  and  the  saint,  to  doom 


E 


BLANK    VERSE.  77 

Such  disproportioned  fates.     Compared  with  him, 
No  man  on  earth  is  holy  called  ;  they  best 
Stand  in  his  sight  approved,  who  at  his  feet 
Their  little  crowns  of  virtue  cast,  and  yield 
To  him  of  his  own  works  the  praise,  his  due. 


THE  SABBATH  BELLS. 

THE  cheerful  Sabbath  bells,  wherever  heard, 

Strike  pleasant  on  the  sense,  most  like  the  voice 

Of  one,  who  from  the  far-off  hills  proclaims 

Tidings  of  good  to  Zion ;  chiefly  when 

Their  piercing  tones  fall  sudden  on  the  ear 

Of  the  contemplant,  solitary  man, 

Whom  thoughts  abstruse  or  high  have  chanced  to  lure 

Forth  from  the  walks  of  men,  revolving  oft, 

And  oft  again,  hard  matter,  which  eludes 

And  baffles  his  pursuit — thought-sick  and  tired 

Of  controversy,  where  no  end  appears, 

No  clue  to  his  research,  the  lonely  man 

Half  wishes  for  society  again. 

Him,  thus  engaged,  the  Sabbath  bells  salute. 

Sudden  !  his  heart  awakes,  his  ears  drink  in 

The  cheering  music  ;  his  relenting  soul 

Yearns  after  all  the  joys  of  social  life, 

And  softens  with  the  love  of  human  kind. 

7*- 


ALBUM    VERSES 

WITH  A  FEW  OTHERS. 


IN  THE  AUTOGRAPH  BOOK  OF  MRS. 
SERGEANT  W 

HAD  I  a  power,  Lady,  to  my  will, 
You  should  not  want  Hand  Writings.      I  would  fill 
Your  leaves  with  Autographs — resplendent  names 
Of  Knights  and  Squires  of  old,  and  courtly  Dames, 
Kings,  Emperors,  Popes.     Next  under  these  should 

stand 

The  hands  of  famous  Lawyers — a  grave  band — 
Who  in  their  Courts  of  Law  or  Equity 
Have  best  upheld  Freedom  and  Property. 
These  should  moot  cases  in  your  book,  and  vie 
To  show  their  reading  and  their  Sergeantry. 
But  I  have  none  of  these  ;  nor  can  I  send 
The  notes  by  Bullen  to  her  Tyrant  penned 
In  her  authentic  hand ;  nor  in  soft  hours 

(78) 


ALBUM    VERSES.  79 


Lines  writ  by  Rosamund  in  Clifford's  bowers. 
The  lack  of  curious  Signatures  I  moan, 
And  want  the  courage  to  subscribe  my  own. 


TO  DORA  W , 

ON  BEING  ASKED  BY  HER  FATHER  TO  WRITE  IN  HER 
ALBUM. 

AN  Album  is  a  Banquet :  from  the  store. 

In  his  intelligential  Orchard  growing, 

Your  Sire  might  heap  your  board  to  overflowing : 

One  shaking  of  the  Tree — 'twould  ask  no  more 

To  set  a  Salad  forth,  more  rich  than  that 

Which  Evelyn  *  in  his  princely  cookery  fancied  : 

Or  that  more  rare,  by  Eve's  neat  hands  enhanced, 

Where,  a  pleased  guest,  the  Angelic  Virtue  sat. 

But  like  the  all-grasping  Founder  of  the  Feast, 

Whom  Nathan  to  the  sinning  king  did  tax, 

From  his  less  wealthy  neighbours  he  exacts  ; 

Spares  his  own  flock,  and  takes  the  poor  man's  beast. 

Obedient  to  his  bidding,  lo,  I  am    ' 

A  zealous,  meek,  contributory  LAMB. 

*  Acetaria,  a  Discourse  of  Sallets,  by  J.  Ev  1706. 


80  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  A  CLERGYMAN'S 
LADY. 

AN  Album  is  a  Garden,  not  for  show 

Planted,  but  use  ;  where  wholesome  herbs  should  grow. 

A  Cabinet  of  curious  porcelain,  where 

No  fancy  enters,  but  what's  rich  or  rare. 

A  Chapel,  where  mere  ornamental  things 

Are  pure  as  crowns  of  saints,' or  angels'  wings. 

A  List  of  living  friends  ;  a  holier  Room 

For  names  of  some  since  mouldering  in  the  tomb, 

Whose  blooming  memories  life's  cold  laws  survive ; 

And,  dead  elsewhere,  they  here  yet  speak  and  live. 

Such,  and  so  tender,  should  an  Album  be  ; 

And,  Lady,  such  I  wish  this  book  to  thee. 


IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  EDITH  S . 

IN  Christian  world  MARY  the  garland  wears  ! 
REBECCA  sweetens  on  a  Hebrew's  ear ; 
Quakers  for  pure  PRISCILLA  are  more  clear ; 
And  the  light  Gaul  by  amorous  NINON  swears. 
Among  the  lesser  lights  how  LUCY  shines ! 
What  air  of  fragrance  ROSAMUND  throws  round 
How  like  a  hymn  doth  sweet  CECILIA  sound ! 


ALBUM    VERSES.  81 

Of  MARTHAS,  and  of  ABIGAILS,  few  lines 

Have  bragged  in  verse.     Of  coarsest  household  stuff 

Should  homely  JOAN  be  fashioned.     But  can 

You  BARBARA  resist,  or  MARIAN  ? 

And  is  not  CLARE  for  love  excuse  enough  ? 

Yet,  by  my  faith,  in  numbers,  I  profess, 

These  all,  than  Saxon  EDITH,  please  me  less. 


IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  ROTHA  Q . 

A  PASSING  glance  was  all  I  caught  of  thee, 

In  my  own  Enfield  haunts  at  random  roving, 

Old  friends  of  ours  were  with  thee,  faces  loving ; 

Time  short ;  and  salutations  cursory, 

Though  deep,  and  hearty.      The  familiar  Name 

Of  you,  yet  unfamiliar,  raised  in  me 

Thoughts — what  the  daughter  of  that  Man  should  be, 

"Who   called   our  Wordsworth  friend.     My  thoughts 

did  frame 

A  growing  Maiden,  who,  from  day  to  day 
Advancing  still  in  stature,  and  in  grace, 
Would  all  her  lonely  Father's  griefs  efface, 
And  his  paternal  cares  with  usury  pay. 
I  still  retain  the  phantom,  as  I  can ; 
And  call  the  gentle  image — Quillinan. 


82  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  CATHERINE  ORKNEY. 

CANADIA  !  boast  no  more  the  toils 
Of  hunters  for  the  furry  spoils  ; 
Your  whitest  ermines  are  but  foils 
To  brighter  Catherine  Orkney. 

That  such  a  flower  should  ever  burst 
From  climes  with  rigorous  winter  curst ! 
We  bless  you,  that  so  kindly  nurst 

This  flower,  this  Catherine  Orkney. 

We  envy  not  your  proud  display 

Of  lake — wood — vast  Niagara ; 

Your  greatest  pride  we've  borne  away. 

How  spared  you  Catherine  Orkney  ? 

That  Wolfe  on  Heights  of  Abraham  fell 
To  your  reproach  no  more  we  tell ; 
Canadia,  you  repaid  us  well 

With  rearing  Catherine  Orkney. 

0  Britain,  guard  with  tenderest  care 
The  charge  allotted  to  your  share ; 
You've  scarce  a  native  maid  so  fair, 
So  good,  as  Catherine  Orkney. 


ALBUM  VERSES.  83 

IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  LUCY  BARTON. 

LITTLE  Book,  surnamed  of  white, 
Clean  as  yet,  and  fair  to  sight, 
Keep  thy  attribution  right. 

Never  disproportioned  scrawl ; 
Ugly  blot,  that's  worse  than  all ; 
On  thy  maiden  clearness  fall ! 

In  each  letter,  here  designed, 
Let  the  reader  emblem' d  find 
Neatness  of  the  owner's  mind. 

Gilded  margins  count  a  sin, 
Let  thy  leaves  attraction  win 
By  the  golden  rules  within ; 

Sayings  fetched  from  sages  old ; 
Laws  which  Holy  Writ  unfold, 
Worthy  to  be  graved  in  gold. 

Lighter  fancies  not  excluding ; 
Blameless  wit,  with  nothing  rude  in, 
Sometimes  mildly  interluding 

Amid  strains  of  graver  measure  ; 
Virtue's  self  hath  oft  her  pleasure 
In  sweet  Muses'  groves  of  leisure. 


84  LAMB'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

Riddles  dark,  perplexing  sense ; 

Darker  meanings  of  offence  ; 

What  but  shades — be  banished  hence, 

Whitest  thoughts  in  whitest  dress, 
Candid  meanings,  best  express 
Mind  of  quiet  Quakeress. 


IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  MRS.  JANE  TOWERS. 

LADY  UNKNOWN,  who  cravest  from  me  Unknown 
The  trifle  of  a  verse  these  leaves  to  grace, 
How  shall  I  find  fit  matter  ?  with  wrhat  face 
Address  a  face  that  ne'er  to  me  was  shown  ? 
Thy  looks,  tones,  gesture,  manners,  and  what  not 
Conjecturing,  I  wander  in  the  dark. 
I  know  thee  only  Sister  to  Charles  Clarke ! 
But  at  that  name  my  cold  muse  waxes  hot, 
And  swears  that  thou  art  such  a  one  as  he, 
Warm,  laughter-loving,  with  a  touch  of  madness, 
Wild,  glee-provoking,  pouring  oil  of  gladness 
From  frank  heart  without  guile.     And,  if  thou  be 
The  pure  reverse  of  this,  and  I  mistake — 
Demure  one,  I  will  like  thee  for  his  sake. 


ALBUM   VERSES.  85 


IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  MISS 


i. 

SUCH  goodness  in  your  face  doth  shine, 
With  modest  look,  without  design, 
That  I  despair  poor  pen  of  mine 

Can  e'er  express  it. 
To  give  it  words  I  feebly  try ; 
My  spirits  fail  me  to  supply 
Befitting  language  for't,  and  I 

Can  only  bless  it ! 

II. 

But  stop,  rash  verse  !  and  don't  abuse 
A  bashful  Maiden's  ear  with  news 
Of  her  own  virtues.     She'll  refuse 

Praise  sung  so  loudly. 
Of  that  same  goodness  you  admire, 
The  best  part  is,  she  don't  aspire 
To  praise — nor  of  herself  desire 

To  think  too  proudly. 


86  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

IN  MY  OWN  ALBUM. 

FRESH  clad  from  heaven  in  robes  of  white, 

A  young  probationer  of  light, 

Thou  wert,  my  soul,  an  album  bright. 

A  spotless  leaf;  but  thought  and  care, 

And  friend  and  foe,  in  foul  or  fair, 

Have  "  written  strange 'defeatures"  there; 

And  Time  with  heaviest  hand  of  all, 
Like  that  fierce  writing  on  the  wall, 
Hath  stamped  sad  dates — he  can't  recall ; 

And  error  gilding  worst  designs — 
Like  speckled  snake  that  strays  and  shines- 
Betrays  his  path  by  crooked  lines  ; 

And  vice  hath  left  his  ugly  blot ; 
And  good  resolves,  a  moment  hot, 
Fairly  began — but  finished  not ; 

And  fruitless,  late  remorse  doth  trace — 
Like  Hebrew  lore  a  backward  pace — 
Her  irrecoverable  race. 


A  L  B  U  M    V  E  R  S  E  S.  87 

Disjointed  numbers  ;  sense  unknit ; 
Huge  reams  of  folly,  shreds  of  wit ; 
Compose  the  mingled  mass  of  it. 

My  scalded  eyes  no  longer  brook 
Upon  this  ink-blurred  thing  to  look — 
Go,  shut  the  leaves,  and  clasp  the  book. 


COMMENDATORY  VERSES,  ETC. 


TO  J.  S.  KNOWLES,  ESQ. 

OX  HIS  TRAGEDY  OF  VIRGINIUS. 

TWELVE  years  ago  I  knew  thee,  Knowles,  and  then 

Esteemed  you  a  perfect  specimen 

Of  those  fine  spirits  warm-souled  Ireland  sends, 

To  teach  us  colder  English  how  a  friend's 

Quick  pulse  should   beat.     I  knew  you  brave,  and 

plain, 

Strong-sensed,  rough-witted,  above  fear  or  gain ; 
But  nothing  further  had  the  gift  to  espy. 
Sudden  you  re-appear.     With  wonder  1 
Hear  my  old  friend  (turned  Shakspeare)  read  a  scene 
Only  to  his  inferior  in  the  clean 
Passes  of  pathos ;  with  such  fence-like  art — 
Ere  we  can  see  the  steel,  'tis  in  our  heart. 
Almost  without  the  aid  language  affords, 
Your  piece  seems  wrought.     That  huffing  medium, 

words, 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES,    ETC.  89 

(Which  in  the  modern  Tamburlaines  quite  sway 

Our  shamed  souls  from  their  bias)  in  your  play 

We  scarce  attend  to.     Hastier  passion  draws 

Our  tears  on  credit ;  and  we  find  the  cause 

Some  two  hours  after,  spelling  o'er  again 

Those  strange  few  words  at  ease,  that  wrought  the 

pain. 

Proceed,  old  friend ;  and,  as  the  year  returns, 
Still  snatch  some  new  old  story,  from  the  urns 
Of  long-dead  virtue.     We,  that  knew  before 
Your  worth,  may  admire,  we  cannot  love  you  more. 


TO  THE  AUTHOR  OF  POEMS, 

PUBLISHED  UNDER  THE  NAME  OF  BARRY  CORNWALL. 

LET  hate,  or  grosser  heats,  their  foulness  mask 
Under  the  vizor  of  a  borrowed  name  ; 
Let  things  eschew  the  light  deserving  blame : 
No  cause  hast  thou  to  blush  for  thy  sweet  task. 
"  Marcian  Colonna"  is  a  dainty  book  ; 
And  thy  "  Sicilian  Tale"  may  boldly  pass  ; 
Thy  "Dream"  'bove  all,  in  which,  as  in  a  glass, 
On  the  great  world's  antique  glories  we  may  look. 
8* 


90  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

No  longer  then,  as  "lowly  substitute, 
Factor,  or  PROCTER,  for  another's  gains," 
Suffer  the  admiring  world  to  be  deceived ; 
Lest  thou  thyself,  by  self  of  fame  bereaved, 
Lament  too  late  the  lost  prize  of  thy  pains, 
And  heavenly  tunes  piped  through  an  alien  flute. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  "EVERY-DAY 
BOOK." 

I  LIKE  you,  and  your  book,  ingenuous  Hone ! 

In  whose  capacious  all-embracing  leaves 
The  very  narrow  of  tradition's  shown ; 

And  all  that  history — much  that  fiction — weaves. 

By  every  sort  of  taste  your  wrork  is  graced. 

Vast  stores  of  modern  anecdote  we  find, 
With  good  old  story  quaintly  interlaced — 

The  theme  as  various  as  the  reader's  mind. 

Rome's  lie-fraught  legends  you  so  truly  paint — 
Yet  kindly — that  the  half-turned  Catholic 

Scarcely  forbears  to  smile  at  his  own  saint, 
And  cannot  curse  the  candid  heretic. 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES,    ETC.  91 

Rags,  relics,  witches,  ghosts,  fiends,  crowd  your  page  ; 

Our  fathers'  mummeries  we  well-pleased  behold, 
And,  proudly  conscious  of  a  purer  age, 

Forgive  some  fopperies  in  the  times  of  old. 

Verse-honouring  Phoebus,  Father  of  bright  Days, 
Must  needs  bestow  on  you  both  good  and  many, 

Who,  building  trophies  of  his  Children's  praise, 
Run  their  rich  Zodiac  through,  not  missing  any. 

Dan    Phoebus    loves    your    book — trust    me,    friend 
Hone — 

The  title  only  errs,  he  bids  me  say : 
For  while  such  art,  wit,  reading,  there  are  shown, 

He  swears,  'tis  not  a  work  of  every  day. 


TO  T.  STOTHARD,  ESQ. 

ON  HIS  ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  THE  POEMS  OF  MR.  ROGERS. 

CONSUMMATE  Artist,  whose  undying  name 
With  classic  Rogers  shall  go  down  to  fame, 
Be  this  thy  crowning  work  !     In  my  young  days 
How  often  have  I,  with  a  child's  fond  gaze, 
Pored  on  the  pictured  wonders  *  thou  hadst  done : 
Clarissa  mournful,  and  prim  Grandison  ! 

*  Illustrations  of  the  British  Novelists. 


92  LAMB'S   POETICAL    WORKS. 

All  Fielding's,  Smollett's  heroes,  rose  to  view, 

I  saw,  and  I  believed  the  phantoms  true. 

But,  above  all,  that  most  romantic  tale  * 

Did  o'er  my  raw  credulity  prevail, 

Where  Glums  and  Gawries  wear  mysterious  things, 

That  serve  at  once  for  jackets  and  for  wings. 

Age,  that  enfeebles  other  men's  designs, 

But  heightens  thine,  and  thy  free  draught  refines. 

In  several  ways  distinct  you  make  us  feel — 

Graceful  as  Raphael,  as  Watteau  genteel. 

Your  lights  and  shades,  as  Titianesque,  we  praise ; 

And  warmly  wish  you  Titian's  length  of  days. 


TO  A  FRIEND  ON  HIS  MARRIAGE. 

WHAT  makes  a  happy  wedlock  ?    What  has  fate 

Not  given  to  thee  in  thy  well-chosen  mate  ? 

Good  sense — good-humour  ; — these  are  trivial  things, 

Dear  M ,  that  each  trite  encomiast  sings. 

But  she  hath  these,  and  more.      A  mind  exempt 
From  every  low-bred  passion,  where  contempt, 
Nor  envy,  nor  detraction,  ever  found 
A  harbour  yet ;  an  understanding  sound  ; 

*  Peter  Wilkins. 


COMMENDATORY   VERSES,    ETC.  93 

Just  views  of  right  and  wrong  ;  perception  full 
Of  the  deformed,  and  of  the  beautiful, 
In  life  and  manners ;  wit  above  her  sex, 
Which,  as  a  gem,  her  sprightly  converse  decks ; 
Exuberant  fancies,  prodigal  of  mirth, 
To  gladden  woodland  walk,  or  winter  hearth ; 
A  noble  nature,  conqueror  in  the  strife 
Of  conflict  with  a  hard  discouraging  life, 
Strengthening  the  veins  of  virtue,  past  the  power 
Of  those  whose  days  have  been  one  silken  hour, 
Spoiled  fortune's  pampered  offspring ;  a  keen  sense 
Alike  of  benefit,  and  of  offence, 
"With  reconcilement  quick,  that  instant  springs 
From  the  charged  heart  with  nimble  angel  wings ; 
While  grateful  feelings,  like  a  signet  signed 
By  a  strong  hand,  seem  burned  into  her  mind. 
If  these,  dear  friend,  a  dowry  can  confer 
Richer  than  land,  thou  hast  them  all  in  her ; 
And  beauty,  which  some  hold  the  chiefest  boon, 
Is  in  thy  bargain  for  a  make-weight  thrown. 


94  LAMB'S   POETICAL    WORKS. 


[In  a  leaf  of  a  quarto  edition  of  the  "Lives  of  the  Saints,  written  in 
Spanish  by  the  learned  and  reverend  father,  Alfonso  Villegas,  Divine, 
of  the  Order  of  St.  Dominick,  set  forth  in  English  by  John  Heigh^m, 
Anno  1630,"  bought  at  a  Catholic  book-shop  in  Duke  Street,  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields,  I  found,  carefully  inserted,  a  painted  floweY,  seemingly 
coeval  with  the  book  itself;  and  did  not,  for  some  time,  discover  that  it 
opened  in  the  middle,  and  was  the  cover  to  a  very  humble  draught  of  a 
St.  Anne,  with  the  Virgin  and  Child;  doubtless  the  performance  of  some 
poor  but  pious  Catholic,  whose  meditations  it  assisted.] 

0  LIFT  with  reverent  hand  that'  tarnished  flower, 

That  shrines  beneath  her  modest  canopy 

Memorials  dear  to  Romish  piety ; 

Dim  specks,  rude  shapes,  of  Saints !  in  fervent  hour 

The  work  perchance  of  some  meek  devotee, 

Who,  poor  in  worldly  treasures  to  set  forth  • 

The  sanctities  she  worshipped  to  their  worth, 

In  this  imperfect  tracery  might  see 

Hints,  that  all  Heaven  did  to  her  sense -reveal. 

Cheap  gifts  best  fit  poor  givers.      We  are  told 

Of  the  lone  mite,  the  cup  of  water  cold, 

That  in  their  way  approved  the  offerer's  zeal. 

True  love  shows  costliest,  where  the  means  are  scant ; 

And,  in  their  reckoning,  they  abound,  who  want. 


COMMENDATORY    V  E  II  S  E  S,    ETC.  95 

THE  SELF-ENCHANTED. 

I  HAD  a  sense  in  dreams  of  a  beauty  rare, 

Whom  Fate  had  spell-bound,  and  rooted  there, 

Stooping,  like  some  enchanted  theme, 

Over  the  marge  of  that  crystal  stream, 

Where  the  blooming  Greek,  to  Echo  blind, 

With  Self-love  fond,  had  to  waters  pined, 

Ages  had  waked,  and  ages  slept, 

And  that  bending  posture  still  she  kept : 

For  her  eyes  she  may  not  turn  away, 

'Till  a  fairer  object  shall  pass  that  way — 

'Till  an  image  more  beauteous  this  world  can  show 

Than  her  own  which  she  sees  in  the  mirror  below. 

Pore  on,  fair  Creature  !  for  ever  pore, 

Nor  dream  to  be  disenchanted  more  : 

For  vain  is  expectance,  and  wish  in  vain, 

'Till  a  new  Narcissus  can  come  again. 


TO  LOUISA  M , 

WHOM  I  USED  TO  CALL  "  MONKEY." 

LOUISA,  serious  grown'  and  mild, 
I  knew  you  once  a  romping  child, 
Obstreperous  much  and  very  wild. 


9G  LAMB'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Then  you  would  clamber  up  my  knees, 
And  strive  with  every  art  to  tease, 
When  every  art  of  yours  could  please. 
Those  things  would  scarce  be  proper  now, 
But  they  are  gone,  I  know  not  how, 
And  woman's  written  on  your  brow. 
Time  draws  his  finger  o'er  the  scene ; 
But  I  cannot  forget  between 
The  Thing  to  me  you  once  have  been  : 
Each  sportive  sally,  wild  escape — 
The  scoff,  the  banter,  and  the  jape — 
And  antics  of  my  gamesome  Ape. 


TRANSLATIONS. 


FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  VINCENT  BOURNE. 


I. 

THE  BALLAD  SINGERS. 

WHERE  seven  fair  Streets  to  one  tall  column  *  draw, 
Two  Nymphs  have  ta'en  their  stand,  in  hats  of  straw  ; 
Their  yellower  necks  huge  beads  of  amber  grace, 
And  by  their  trade  they're  of  the  Sirens'  race  ; 
With  cloak  loose-pinned  on  each,  that  has  been  red, 
But  long  with  dust  and  dirt  discoloured 
Belies  its  hue ;  in  mud  behind,  before, 
From  heel  to  middle  leg  becrusted  o'er. 
One  a  small  infant  at  the  breast  does  bear ; 
And  one  in  her  right  hand  her  tuneful  ware, 
Which  she  would  vend.     Their  station  scarce  is  taken, 
When  youths  and  maids  flock  round.     His  stall  for- 
saken, 

*  Seven  Dials. 
9  (97) 


98  LAMB'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 

Forth  comes  a  Son  of  Crispin,  leathern-capt, 

Prepared  to  buy  a  ballad,  if  one  apt 

To  move  his  fancy  offers.     Crispin's  sons 

Have,  from  uncounted  time,  with  ale  and  buns, 

Cherished  the  gift  of  Song,  which  sorrow  quells ; 

And,  working  single  in  their  low-rooft  cells, 

Oft  cheat  the  tedium  of  a  winter's  night 

With  anthems  warbled  in  the  Muses'  spight. 

Who  now  hath  caught  the  alarm  ?  the  Servant  Maid 

Hath  heard  a  buzz  at  distance  ;  and  afraid 

To  miss  a  note,  with  elbow's  red  conies  out. 

Leaving  his  forge  to  cool,  Pyracmon  stout 

Thrusts  in  his  unwashed  visage.     He  stands  by, 

Who  the  hard  trade  of  Porterage  does  ply 

With  stooping  shoulders.     What  cares  he  ?  he  sees 

The  assembled  ring,  nor  heeds  his  tottering  knees, 

But  pricks  his  ears  up  with  the  hopes  of  song. 

So  while  the  Bard  of  Rhodope  his  wrong 

Bewailed  to  Proserpine  on  Thracian  strings, 

The  tasks  of  gloomy  Orcus  lost  their  stings, 

And  stone-vexed  Sisyphus  forgets  his  load. 

Hither  and  thither  from  the  sevenfold  road 

Some  cart  or  wagon  crosses,  which  divides 

The  close-wedged  audience ;  but,  as  when  the  tides 

To  ploughing  ships  give  way,  the  ship  being  past, 

They  re-unite,  so  these  unite  as  fast. 


T  R  A  N  S  L  A  T  I  0  N  S.  99 

The  older  Songstress  hitherto  hath  spent 

Her  elocution  in  the  argument 

Of  their  great  song  in  prose  ;  to  wit,  the  woes 

Which  Maiden  true  to  faithless  Sailor  owes — 

Ah !  "  Wandering  He  /" — which  now  in  loftier  verse 

Pathetic  they  alternately  rehearse. 

All  gaping  wait  the  event.     This  Critic  opes 

His  right  ear  to  the  strain.      The  other  hopes 

To  catch  it  better  with  his  left.      Long  trade 

It  were  to  tell,  how  the  deluded  Maid 

A  victim  fell.     And  now  right  greedily 

All  hands  are  stretching  forth  the  songs  to  buy, 

That  are  so  tragical ;  which  She,  and  She, 

Deals  out,  and  sings  the  while;  nor  can  there  be 

A  breast  so  obdurate  here,  that  will  hold  back 

His  contribution  from  the  gentle  rack 

Of  Music's  pleasing  torture.     Irus'  self, 

The  staff-propped  Beggar,  his  thin  gotten  pelf 

Brings  out  from  pouch,  where  squalid  farthings  rest, 

And  boldly  claims  his  ballad  with  the  best. 

An  old  Dame  only  lingers.     To  her  purse 

The  penny  sticks.     At  length,  with  harmless  curse, 

"  Give  me,"  she  cries.     "  I'll  paste  it  on  my  wall, 

While  the  wall  lasts,  to  show  what  ills  befall 

Fond  hearts,  seduced  from  Innocency's  way ; 

How  Maidens  fall,  and  Mariners  betray." 


100  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

II. 

TO  DAVID  COOK, 

OF  THE  PARISH  OF  ST.  MARGARET'S,  WESTMINSTER, 
WATCHMAN. 

FOR  much  good-natured  verse  received  from  thee, 
A  loving  verse  take  in  return  from  me. 
"  Good  morrow  to  my  masters,"  is  your  cry; 
And  to  our  David  "twice  as  good,"  say  I. 
Not  Peter's  monitor,  shrill  Chanticleer, 
Crows  the  approach  of  dawn  in  notes  more  clear, 
Or  tells  the  hours  more  faithfully.     While  night 
Fills  half  the  world  with  shadows  of  affright, 
You  with  your  lantern,  partner  of  your  round, 
Traverse  the  paths  of  Margaret's  hallowed  bound. 
The  tales  of  ghosts  which  old  wives'  ears  drink  up, 
The  drunkard  reeling  home  from  tavern  cup, 
Nor  prowling  robber,  your  firm  soul  appall ; 
Armed  with  thy  faithful  staff,  thou  slightest  them  all, 
But  if  the  market  gardener  chance  to  pass, 
Bringing  to  town  his  fruit  or  early  grass, 
The  gentle  salesman  you  with  candour  greet, 
And  with  reiterated  "good  mornings"  meet. 
Announcing  your  approach  by  formal  bell, 
Of  nightly  weather  you  the  changes  tell ; 
Whether  the  moon  shines,  or  her  head  doth  steep 
In  rain-portending  clouds.     When  mortals  sleep 


TRANSLATIONS.  101 

In  downy  rest,  you  brave  the  snows  arid  sleet 
Of  winter  ;  and  in  alley,  or  in  street, 
Relieve  your  midnight  progress  writh  a  verse. 
What  though  fastidious  Phoebus  frown  averse 
On  your  didactic  strain — indulgent  Night 
With  caution  hath  sealed  up  both  ears  of  Spite, 
And  critics  sleep  while  you  in  staves  do  sound 
The  praise  of  long-dead  Saints,  whose  Days  abound 
In  wintry  months ;  but  Crispin  chief  proclaim  ; 
Who  stirs  not  at  that  Prince  of  Cobblers'  name  ? 
Profuse  in  loyalty  some  couplets  shine, 
And  wish  long  days  to  all  the  Brunswick  line ! 
To  youths  and  virgins  they  chaste  lessons  read ; 
Teach  wives  and  husbands  how  their  lives  to  lead ; 
Maids  to  be  cleanly,  footmen  free  from  vice ; 
How  death  at  last  all  ranks  doth  equalize ; 
And,  in  conclusion,  pray  good  years  befall, 
With  store  of  wealth,  your  "  worthy  masters  all." 
For  this  and  other  tokens  of  good  will, 
On  boxing-day  may  store  of  shillings  fill 
Your  Christmas  purse ;  no  householder  give  less, 
When  at  each  door  your  blameless  suit  you  press  ; 
And  what  you  wish  to  us  (it  is  but  reason) 
Receive  in  turn — the  compliments  o'  the  season ! 


102  LAMB'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


III. 

ON  A  SEPULCHRAL  STATUE  OF  AN 
INFANT  SLEEPING. 

BEAUTIFUL  Infant,  ^who  dost  keep 

Thy  posture  here,  and  sleep'st  a  marble  sleep, 

May  the  repose  unbroken  be, 

Which  the  fine  Artist's  hand  hath  lent  to  thee, 

While  thou  enjoy est  along  with  it 

That  which  no  art,  or  craft,  could  ever  hit, 

Or  counterfeit  to  mortal  sense, 

The  heaven-infused  sleep  of  innocence  ! 


IV. 

EPITAPH  ON  A  DOG. 

POOR  Irus'  faithful  wolf-dog  here  I  lie, 

That  wont  to  tend  my  old  blind  master's  steps, 

His  guide  and  guard ;  nor,  while  my  service  lasted, 

Had  he  occasion  for  that  staff,  with  which 

lie  now  goes  picking  out  his  path  in  fear 

Over  the  highways  and  crossings,  but  would  plant 

Safe  in  the  conduct  of  my  friendly  string, 


TRANSLATIONS.  103 

A  firm  foot  forward  still,  till  he  had  reached 

His  poor  seat  on  some  stone,  nigh  where  the  tide 

Of  passers-by  in  thickest  confluence  flowed ; 

To  whom  with  loud  and  passionate  laments 

From  morn  to  eve  his  dark  estate  he  wailed. 

Nor  wailed  to  all  in  vain ;  some  here  and  there, 

The  well-disposed  and  good,  their  pennies  gave. 

I  meantime  at  his  feet  obsequious  slept ; 

Not  all-asleep  in  sleep,  but  heart  and  ear 

Pricked  up  at  his  least  motion,  to  receive 

At  his  kind  hand  my  customary  crumbs, 

And  common  portion  in  his  feast  of  scraps ; 

Or  when  night  warned  us  homeward,  tired  and  spent 

With  our  long  day  and  tedious  beggary. 

These  were  my  manners,  this  my  way  of  life, 

Till  age  and  slow  disease  me  overtook, 

And  severed  from  my  sightless  master's  side. 

But  lest  the  grace  of  so  good  deeds  should  die, 

Through  tract  of  years  in  mute  oblivion  lost, 

This  slender  tomb  of  turf  hath  Irus  reared, 

Cheap  monument  of  no  ungrudging  hand, 

And  with  short  verse  inscribed  it,  to  attest, 

In  long  and  lasting  union  to  attest, 

The  virtues  of  the  Beggar  and  his  dog. 


104  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 

V. 

THE  RIVAL  BELLS. 

A  TUNEFUL  challenge  rings  from  either  side 

Of  Thames'  fair  banks.      Thy  twice    six  Bells,  St. 

Bride, 

Peal  swift  and  shrill ;  to  which  more  slow  reply 
The  deep-toned  eight  of  Mary  Overy. 
Such  harmony  from  the  contention  flows, 
That  the  divided  ear  no  preference  knows  ; 
Betwixt  them  both  disparting  Music's  State, 
While  one  exceeds  in  number,  one  in  weight. 


VI. 
NEWTON'S  PRINCIPIA. 

GREAT  Newton's  self,  to  whom  the  world's  in  debt, 
Owed  to  School  Mistress  sage  his  Alphabet ; 
But  quickly  wiser  than  his  Teacher  grown, 
Discovered  properties  to  her  unknown ; 
Of  A  plus  B,  or  minus,  learned  the  use, 
Known  Quantities  from  unknown  to  educe ; 
And  made — no  doubt  to  that  old  dame's  surprise — 
The  Christ-Cross-Row  his  Ladder  to  the  skies. 


TRANSLATIONS.  105 

Yet,  whatsoe'er  Geometricians  say, 
Her  Lessons  were  his  .true  PRINCIPIA  ! 


VII. 

THE  HOUSEKEEPER. 

THE  frugal  snail,  with  forecast  of  repose, 
Carries  his  house  with  him,  where'er  he  goes ; 
Peeps  out — and  if  there  comes  a  shower  of  rain, 
Retreats  to  his  small  domicile  amain. 
Touch  but  a  tip  of  him,  a  horn — 'tis  well — 
He  curls  up  in  his  sanctuary  shell. 
He's  his  own  landlord,  his  own  tenant ;  stay 
Long  as  he  will,  he  dreads  no  Quarter  Day. 
Himself  he  boards  and  lodges  ;  both  invites, 
And  feasts,  himself;  sleeps  with  himself  o'  nights. 
He  spares  the  upholsterer  trouble  to  procure 
Chattels ;  himself  is  his  own  furniture, 
And  his  sole  riches.      Wheresoe'er  he  roam — 
Knock  when  you  will — he's  sure  to  be  at  home. 


106  LAMB'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

VIII. 

ON  A  DEAF  AND  DUMB  ARTIST.* 

AND  hath  thy  blameless  life  become 

A  prey  to  the  devouring  tomb  ? 

A  more  mute  silence  hast  thou  known, 

A  deafness  deeper  than  thine  own, 

While  Time  was  ?  and  no  friendly  Muse, 

That  marked  thy  life,  and  knows  thy  dues, 

Repair  with  quickening  verse  the  breach, 

And  write  thee  into  light  and  speech  ? 

The  Power,  that  made  the  Tongue,  restained 

Thy  lips  from  lies,  and  speeches  feigned  ; 

"Who  made  the  Hearing,  without  wrong 

Did  rescue  thine  from  Siren's  song. 

He  let  thee  see  the  ways  of  men, 

Which  thou  with  pencil,  not  with  pen, 

Careful  beholder,  down  didst  note, 

And  all  their  motley  actions  quote, 

Thyself  unstained  the  while.     From  look 

Or  gesture  reading,  more  than  book) 

In  lettered  pride  thou  took'st  no  part, 

Contented  with  the  Silent  Art, 

Thyself  as  silent.     Might  I  be 

As  speechless,  deaf,  and  good,  as  He ! 

*  Benjamin  Ferrers— Died  A.  D.  1732. 


TRANSLATIONS.  107 

IX. 

THE  FEMALE  ORATORS. 

NIGH  London's  famous  Bridge,  a  Gate  more  famed 
Stands,  or  once  stood,  from  old  Belimis  named, 
So  judged  antiquity ;   and  therein  wrongs 
A  name,  allusive  strictly  to  two  Tongues.* 
Her  School  hard  by  the  Goddess  Rhetoric  opes, 
And  gratis  deals  to  Oyster-wives 'her  Tropes. 
With  Nereid  green,  green  Nereid  disputes, 
Replies,  rejoins,  confutes,  and  still  confutes. 
One  her  coarse  sense  by  metaphors  expounds, 
And  one  in  literalities  abounds ; 
In  mood  and  figure  these  keep  up  the  din : 
Words  multiply,  and  every  word  tells  in. 
Her  hundred  throats  here  bawling  Slander  strains , 
And  unclothed  Venus  to  her  tongue  gives  reins 
In  terms,  which  Demosthenic  force  outgo, 
And  baldest  jests  of  foul-mouthed  Cicero. 
Right  in  the  midst  great  Ate  keeps  her  stand, 
And  from  her  sovereign  station  taints  the  land. 
Hence  Pulpits  rail ;  grave  Senates  learn  to  jar; 
Quacks  scold ;  and  Billingsgate  infects  the  Bar. 

#  Bi/inf/in'x  in  the  Latin. 


108  LAMB'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

PINDARIC  ODE  TO  THE  TREAD-MILL. 

i. 

INSPIRE  my  spirit,  Spirit  of  De  Foe, 

That  sang  the  Pillory, 

In  loftier  strains  to  show 

A  more  sublime  Machine 

Than  that,  where  thou  wert  seen, 

With  neck  out-stretched  and  shoulders  ill  awry, 

Courting  coarse  plaudits  from  vile  crowds  below — 

A  most  unseemly  show ! 

II. 

In  such  a  place 

Who  could  expose  thy  face, 

Historiographer  of  deathless  Crusoe  ? 

That  paint'st  the  strife 

And  all  the  naked  ills  of  savage  life, 

Far  above  Rousseau  ? 

Rather  myself  had  stood 

In  that  ignoble  wood, 

Bare  to  the  mob,  on  holiday  or  high  day. 

If  nought  else  could  atone 

For  waggish  libel, 

I  swear  on  bible, 

I  would  have  spared  him  for  thy  sake  alone, 

Man  Friday ! 


EPICEDIUM.  109 


III. 

Our  ancestors'  were  sour  days, 
Great  Master  of  Romance  ! 
A  milder  doom  had  fallen  to  thy  chance 
In  our  days : 
Thy  sole  assignment 
Some  solitary  confinement, 
(Not  worth  thy  care  a  carrot,) 
Where  in  the  world-hidden  cell 
Thou  thy  own  Crusoe  might  have  acted  well, 
Only  without  the  parrot ; 
By  sure  experience  taught  to  know, 
Whether  the  qualms  thou  mak'st  him  feel  were  truly 
such  or  no. 

IV. 

But  stay  !  methinks  in  statelier  measure — 
A  more  companionable  pleasure — 
I  see  thy  steps  the  mighty  Tread-Mill  trace, 
(The  subject  of  my  song, 
Delayed  however  long,) 
And  some  of  thine  own  race, 

To  keep  thee  company,  thou  bring'st  with  thee  along. 
There  with  thee  go, 
Linked  in  like  sentence, 
With  regulated  pace  and  footing  slow, 
10 


110  LAMB'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

Each  old  acquaintance, 

Rogue — harlot — thief — that  live  to  future  ages  ; 

Through  many  a  laboured  tome, 

Rankly  embalmed  in  thy  too  natural  pages. 

Faith,  friend  De  Foe,  thou  art  quite  at  home  ! 

Not  one  of  thy  great  offspring  thou  dost  lack, 

From  pirate  Singleton  to  pilfering  Jack. 

Here  Flandrian  Moll  her  brazen  incest  brags  ; 

Vice-stripped  Roxana,  penitent  in  rags, 

There  points  to  Amy,  treading  equal  chimes, 

The  faithful  handmaid  to  her  faithless  crimes. 

v. 

Incompetent  my  song  to  raise 

To  its  just  height  thy  praise, 

Great  Mill ! 

That  by  thy  motion  proper 

(No  thanks  to  wind,  or  sail,  or  working  rill), 

Grinding  that  stubborn  corn,  the  Human  will, 

Turn'st  out  men's  consciences, 

That  were  begrimed  before,  as  clean  and  sweet 

As  flour  from  purest  wheat, 

Into  thy  hopper. 

All  reformation  short  of  thee  but  nonsense  is, 

Or  human,  or  divine. 


EPICEDIUM,  111 


VI. 

Compared  with  thee, 

What  are  the  labours  of  that  Jumping  Sect, 

Which  feeble  laws  connive  at  rather  than  respect  ? 

Thou  dost  not  bump, 

Or  jump, 

But  walk  men  into  virtue  ;  betwixt  crime 

And  slow  repentance  giving  breathing  time, 

And  leisure  to  be  good  ; 

Instructing  with  discretion  demi-reps 

How  to  direct  their  steps. 

VII. 

Thou  best  Philosopher  made  out  of  wood  ! 

Not  that  which  framed  the  tub, 

Where  sate  the  Cynic  cub, 

With  nothing  in  his  bosom  sympathetic ; 

But  from  those  groves  derived,  I  deem, 

Where  Plato  nursed  his  dream 

Of  immortality ; 

Seeing  that  clearly 

Thy  system  all  is  merely 

Peripatetic. 

Thou  to  thy  pupils  dost  such  lessons  give 

Of  how  to  live 


112  LAMB'S    POETICAL,.  WORKS. 

With  temperance,  sobriety,  morality, 

(A  new  art,) 

That  from  thy  school,  by  force  of  virtuous  deeds, 

Each  Tyro  now  proceeds 

A  "Walking  Stewart!" 


GOING  OR  GONE. 

i. 

FINE  merry  franions, 

Wanton  companions, 

My  days  are  even  banyans 

With  thinking  upon  ye  ! 
How  Death,  that  last  stinger, 
Finis-writer,  end-bringer, 
Has  laid  his  chill  finger, 

Or  is  laying  on  ye. 

II. 

There's  rich  Kitty  Wheatley, 
With  footing  it  featly 
That  took  me  completely, 

She  sleeps  in  the  Kirk  House ; 


EPIC  EDI  UM.  113 

And  poor  Polly  Perkin, 
Whose  Dad  was  still  firking 
The  jolly  ale  firkin, 

She's  gone  to  the  Work-house ; 

in. 

Fine  Gardener,  Ben  Carter 
(In  ten  counties  no  smarter) 
Has  ta'en  his  departure 

For  Proserpine's  orchards  : 
And  Lily,  postilion, 
With  cheeks  of  vermilion, 
Is  one  of  a  million 

That  fill  up  the  church-yards  ; 

IV. 

And,  lusty  as  Dido, 
Fat  Clemitson's  widow 
Flits  now  a  small  shadow 

By  Stygian  hid  ford  ; 
And  good  Master  Clapton 
Has  thirty  years  napt  on, 
The  ground  he  has  hapt  on, 

Intombed  by  fair  Widford ; 
10* 


114  LAMB'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  gallant  Tom  Dockwra, 
Of  Nature's  finest  crockery, 
Now  but  thin  air  and  mockery, 

Lurks  by  Avernus, 
Whose  honest  grasp  of  hand 
Still,  while  his  life  did  stand, 
At  friend's  or  foe's  command, 

Almost  did  burn  us. 

VI. 

Roger  de  Coverley 

Not  more  good  man  than  he ; 

Yet  has  he  equally 

Pushed  for  Cocytus, 
With  drivelling  Worral, 
And  wicked  old  Dorr  ell, 
'Gainst  whom  I've  a  quarrel, 

Whose  end  might  affright  us  !- 

VII. 

Kindly  hearts  have  I  known  ; 
Kindly  hearts,  they  are  flown  ; 
Here  and  there  if  but  one 
Linger  yet  uneffaced, 


EPICEDIUM.  115 

Imbecile  tottering  elves, 
Soon  to  be  wrecked  on  shelves, 
These  scarce  are  half  themselves, 
With  age  and  care  crazed. 

VIII. 

But  this  day  Fanny  Hutton 
Her  last  dress  has  put  on ; 
Her  fine  lessons  forgotten, 

She  died,  as  the  dunce  died ; 
And  prim  Betsy  Chambers, 
Decayed  in  her  members, 
No  longer  remembers 

Things,  as  she  once  did ; 

IX. 

And  prudent  Miss  Wither 
Not  in  jest  now  doth  tvither, 
And  soon  must  go — whither 

Nor  I  well,  nor  you  know ; 
And  flaunting  Miss  Waller, 
That  soon  must  befall  her, 
Whence  none  can  recall  her, 

Though  proud  once  as  Juno  ! 


11G  LAMB'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 

FREE  THOUGHTS  ON  SEVERAL  EMINENT 
COMPOSERS. 

SOME  cry  up  Haydn,  some  Mozart, 

Just  as  the  whim  bites  ;  for  my  part, 

I  do  not  care  a  farthing  candle 

For  either  of  them,  or  for  Handel. 

Cannot  a  man  live  free  and  easy, 

Without  admiring  Pergolesi  ? 

Or  through  the  world  with  comfort  go 

That  never  heard  of  Doctor  Blow  ? 

So  help  me  heaven,  I  hardly  have ; 

And  yet  I  eat,  and  drink,  and  shave, 

Like  other  people,  if  you  watch  it, 

And  know  no  more  of  stave  or  crotchet, 

Than  did  the  primitive  Peruvians  ; 

Or  those  old  ante-queer-diluvians 

That  lived  in  the  unwashed  world  with  Jubal, 

Before  that  dirty  blacksmith  Tubal 

By  stroke  on  anvil,  or  by  summ'at, 

Found  out,  to  his  great  surprise,  the  gamut. 

I  care  no  more  for  Cimarosa, 

Than  he  did  for  Salvator  Rosa, 

Being  no  painter  ;  and  bad  luck 

Be  mine,  if  I  can  bear  that  Gluck  ! 

Old  Tycho  Brahe,  and  modern  Herschel, 

Had  something  in  them  ;  but  who's  Purcel  ? 


FREE   THOU  G  IITS.  117 

The  devil,  with  his  foot  so  cloven, 

For  ought  I  care,  may  take  Beethoven ; 

And,  if  the  bargain  does  not  suit, 

I'll  throw  him  Weber  in  to  boot. 

There's  not  the  splitting  of  a  splinter 

To  choose  'twixt  him  last  named,  and  Winter. 

Of  Doctor  Pepusch  old  queen  Dido 

Knew  just  as  much,  God  knows,  as  I  do. 

I  would  not  go  four  miles  to  visit 

Sebastian  Bach ;  (or  Batch,  which  is  it  ?) 

No  more  I  would  for  Bononcini. 

As  for  Novello,  or  Rossini, 

I  shall  not  say  a  word  to  grieve  'em, 

Because  they're  living ;  so  I  leave  'em. 


THE  END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


JAN  12  195! 


' 


LD  21A-50m-9,'58 
(6889slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


. 


IlPGAl 


C 

IV-X    '  H  J  -i—yv  '  AN 


•"         l      ' 


